


Whatever I Can

by muffinrag



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2019-10-03 06:42:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 31,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17279009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muffinrag/pseuds/muffinrag
Summary: This is literally going to be the entirety of a DA:I play through in novel form. Most of the base dialogue is the same, but I've edited for like... flow and comprehensibility, cuz (god do I love this game but) some of the dialogue is clunky and literally nobody, ever, in history, has conversations like how they happen in RPGs.I've also added extra dialogue, especially internal dialogue for the Inquisitor - Lyra Lavellan. Because, like, I swear to god the only emotion my inquisitors ever have is "here's a dry joke" or one line in Trespasser where they say the fuck word, and wow I want to see the internal conflict. I want some fuckin EMOTION. Plus, I wanted to characterize and explore the way a Dalish would truly interact with the world of the Inquisitor, because a lot of stuff just... doesn't make sense? Like how does my Dalish know so much about the Chantry? Why the fuck would my Dalish just put up with this religion they don't even GO TO?





	1. The Temple of Sacred Ashes

**Author's Note:**

> The beginning of the story is designed, in-game, as a tutorial. Admittedly, probably the best tutorial I've ever played through, and I've played it like... 40 times. Anyway, it starts kinda slow. Dialogue could have been done better. Frankly, I just wanted to write this as quick as possible to cut to the good shit. I cut some things that were obviously just explaining game mechanics, like when Cass says "take these potions..."
> 
> Actually, I might have left that in. Don't remember.
> 
> I'm not super interested in describing combat in-depth so most of that is gonna be glossed over.
> 
> Please enjoy how insatiably gay Lyra is.

_Be careful, please._

Keeper Istimaethoriel’s voice had been soft and commanding, like it always was. But she had been pleading with me, too. Begging.

_The shems are dangerous. Keep your head down, stay safe, find out what you can. And please, Lyra, be careful. Come back to us in once piece, as you always have._

My eyes wander across the shackles on my wrists, to my left hand. It glows faintly green, and, as I gaze at it, a cold numbness rushes from my wrist to the center of my palm, and the strange greenness flashes brighter with a bizarre crackling sound. An involuntary gasp of shock escapes me, and I flinch backwards, painfully aware of the four shem soldiers surrounding me with their blades pointed. I can see one of them flinch, too, out of the corner of my eye.

The door slams open, and a powerful figure cuts a silhouette in the bright lamplight beyond. She stalks in, glaring down at me with dark, furious eyes. Another woman enters after her, though she hangs back beside the door, watching calmly. Cautiously.

The first woman stalks around behind me and leans down, close to my ear, and nearly snarls in her rage. “Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now.”

I lean away instinctively, panic filling my gut. _Be careful, please._

“The Conclave is destroyed,” the woman continues, straightening and walking away. “Everyone who attended is dead.” She turns, pointing at me, and I wonder at how I can feel her eyes as though they were swords in my heart. “Except… for you.”

My stomach twists. I don’t know what she wants from me. I don’t know what she expects me to say. I want to speak, to tell her that I don’t know, I don’t know, by Mythal I don’t know, please don’t hurt me. But if Keeper Istimaethoriel taught me anything, it’s that silence is always better than words spoken in panic. Panic leads to confusion. Confusion leads to misunderstandings. Misunderstandings are what get my kind killed.

I have to remain calm if I want to get out of here alive.

She takes a step towards me and grabs my wrist, yanking it up. “Explain this,” she demands, as it crackles and flashes again.

“I, I.... I can’t,” I stutter out, panic getting the better of me as she grabs me.

“What do you _mean_ , you can’t?” she snaps, throwing my hand back to the ground.

“I don’t know what it is, or how it got there!” I say, almost begging now.

Her face twists, and she lunges at me. “You’re lying!”

The woman who’s been watching by the door appears beside her suddenly, pulling her away before she can tackle me. “We need her, Cassandra,” she says, gripping the furious woman by the shoulders and staring her right in the eyes.

Don’t be aggressive. Don’t panic. They won’t hesitate to kill you.

“So what happens now?”

Mythal’s grace, my voice is shaking.

The calmer woman, who stopped Cassandra from attacking me, sighs and turns around, walking back towards me. “Do you remember what happened? How this began?”

I close my eyes. “I came to the Conclave? Things seemed to be going okay. Then… yelling? I don’t… I don’t remember. Then I was someplace… strange. I don’t know how I got there, but I remember running. Things were chasing me. And then…” I hesitate, feeling the fuzz in my mind, feeling excruciatingly aware of Cassandra circling behind me. “A woman?”

She crosses her arms, an indecipherable emotion crossing her face. “A woman?”

“She… reached out to me, but then…”

Cassandra moves back in front of me, stepping up to the other woman. “Go to the forward camp, Leliana. I will take her to the rift.”

Leliana hesitates, still watching me. After what feels like an eternity, she gives a curt nod to Cassandra and walks out.

My eyes drop back to my hands. Why can’t I remember? I run through it again and again in my mind, but after the yelling everything is blank, until I woke up… somewhere. Somewhere that’s… not here. I can’t seem to wrap my head around why the place was so strange.

Cassandra crouches in front of me and removes the heavy metal shackles, then ties my hands with rope. As she pulls me to my feet, I ask, “What _did_ happen?”

She tugs at the knot to ensure it’s tight. “It…” she sighs. “Will be easier to show you.”

She leads me through a hall, up a flight of stairs, and through the large building. From its appearance, it’s a Chantry building. I’ve been in one perhaps once before.

The double doors creak open as we walk towards them, and the brisk, blinding light of winter floods in. I step out after Cassandra and lift my hand to shield my eyes from the sun, but it’s… not the sun. I mean, yes, the sun is up in the east, but to the north… oh, Mythal. Oh gods.

In the sky, swirling in the center of a bank of clouds, is a massive green… mark. A hole. A strange, smoky pillar extends down from it, and in the pillar there are enormous rocks, floating in the sky, seemingly being sucked upwards. I’ve never been very well attuned to magical energies, but I can feel it from here – possibly miles away. It feels wrong.

_Be careful, please._

“We call it the Breach.” Cassandra’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “It’s a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour. It’s not the only such rift, just the largest. All were caused by the explosion at the Conclave.”

“An explosion can do that?” I whisper, awed and absolutely terrified.

“This one did.” Cassandra moves towards me. Her dark eyes are clearer now, less enraged. “Unless we act, the Breach may grow until it swallows the world.”

As she says this, the Breach lets off a horrifying noise, like a crack of thunder, but wrong. I can see the entire thing pulsate slightly, and that now-familiar numbness cracks through my hand. It’s worse this time than it has been before, and I let out a cry of pain and sink to my knees, cradling my hand in my lap. As I try to force the pain down, Cassandra kneels in front of me, and now her voice holds a measure of… worry?

“Each time the Breach expands, your mark spreads, and it _is_ killing you.” She watches me with careful eyes. “It may be the key to stopping this, but there isn’t much time.”

“May be the key? How?”

“It may be able to close the Breach. Whether that’s possible is something we shall discover shortly.” She closes her eyes briefly and sighs. “It is our only chance. And yours.”

“And… you still think I did this? To myself?”

She shakes her head. “Not intentionally. Something clearly went wrong.”

“What if I’m not responsible?”

“Someone is, and you are our only suspect.” Some of the fury has returned. “You wish to prove your innocence? This is the only way.”

I let out a deep, shaky sigh. They need me. They won’t kill me.

Yet.

“I understand.”

Her face softens. “Then…?”

“I’ll do what I can. Whatever it takes.”

She nods and helps me to my feet. I can see the relief in her eyes as she sets her hand on my back and leads me forward.

We pass several soldiers, whom she nods at, and they salute. We move down through the small city – what was it called? Haven? – and out of the massive double doors in the city’s wall. There are tents thrown here, and people mill about, talking, glancing at the Breach. Some of them catch sight of me and I see them tense, body posture growing aggressive, faces darkening. Cassandra notices too, and though she waves them off, they remain angry, like a storm cloud trailing behind me.

“They have decided your guilt,” she explains. “They need it. The people of Haven mourn our Most Holy, Divine Justinia, head of the Chantry. The Conclave was hers. It was a chance for peace between mages and templars. She brought their leaders together. Now they are dead.”

My eyes wander over the people, now mostly behind us. I lock eyes with another elf, dressed in similar armor as the soldiers, and her lip lifts in a snarl.

“We lash out, like the sky, but we must think beyond ourselves… as she did.” Her voice grows thin with pain, and I can’t help but wonder who this Divine Justina was to her. “Until the Breach is sealed, we must work together as one.”

Cassandra leads me up a short path to a bridge, guarded by a huge gate and tower. The shem seem more afraid of each other than anything else, I note dryly as the gates swing open to let us in. As they close behind us, Cassandra turns to me and pulls out a knife. I take a step backwards, my stomach twisting, and she eyes me with… amusement?

“There will be a trial,” she says, and slices the ropes off my hands. “I can promise no more.” Then she walks away. “Come. It is not far.”

I glance up at the Breach, throat closing, and jog across the bridge after her. The soldiers open the gates for us at her behest, and I follow her onto a cobblestone path on the other side. It looks to head up the canyon, directly towards the Breach.

Gods, but it is huge.

Suddenly, it pulsates, letting off streaks of green lightning, and pain slashes through my hand. I cry out, and my legs give way as the pain pulses in my palm and wrist, like pins and needles driven up to a thousand percent. It’s such an uncomfortable mix of numbness and stabbing pain that it sets my head reeling, and I clutch it with my other hand, trying not to let my eyes leak.

Cassandra walks up next to me and puts her hand on my back, and I struggle to my feet. Her eyes are locked on the Breach. “The pulses are coming faster.”

I can only nod, not trusting myself to speak. She continues jogging, and I follow, half-listening to her speak.

“The larger the Breach grows, the more rifts appear, and the more demons we face.”

I glance up at it again. Every so often, something falls from it – like a green comet, hurtling to the ground. I can hear it crackling, and I wonder if Cassandra can hear it and feel it too, or if it’s just me, since I have the mark on my hand.

“How did I survive the blast? Does anyone know?”

She glances back at me, slowing her pace a little. “They say you… stepped out of a rift, then fell unconscious. They say a woman was in the rift behind you. No one knows who she was.”

We turn and move onto a small bridge – still with gates at the end, though not nearly as massive as the other one. Do the shems not realize that people are perfectly capable of walking through snowy riverbeds? What are the gates even there for?

As we cross, one of the green comets crashes into the bridge just in front of Cassandra, cracking it. I yelp in shock as the stone crumbles beneath my feet, and I tumble – miraculously unharmed – to the frozen river below. Cassandra collapses in a pile beside me, and we clamber to our feet as yet another comet strikes the ice some thirty feet away. As we watch in horror, a demon rises from the muck and screeches.

“Stay behind me!” Cassandra shouts, drawing her sword and lunging towards it.

I back away, content to let her handle it. She seems like a competent warrior. But as she smashes into it with her shield, I notice the ice in front of me bubbling with black goop, and another demon rises with an otherworldly howl.

My eyes flash over the nearby area. I’ve run into one or two demons in my life. Closer to one. They can be killed like anything else, but I’m weaponless.

The demon’s eyes latch onto me just as mine discover a box of weapons cracked open nearby. It lunges at me, and I barely manage to dodge roll out of the way. I rip the lid the rest of the way off the box. Swords, swords… a bow.

I yank it out and spin around, nocking an arrow just as the demon comes up behind me, claws lifted to slash down, and I bury the arrow in one of its many eyes. The force of the close-range shot rips the arrow straight through the demon’s head, and it collapses before me with a final shriek.

Across the ice, Cassandra yanks her sword out of the other demon as it dissolves. I grab the rest of the quiver and sling it over my back, then walk towards her, glancing from side to side in case more showed up.

“I think we’re okay,” I say, and my voice trembles more than I’d like to admit.

She turns around and, noting the bow in my hand, points her sword at me. “Drop. Your. Weapon. _Now._ ”

Shit. I raise my free hand into the air, and lean down to set my bow on the ground. “All right.”

As it clatters onto the ice, she sighs. “Wait.”

I look up at her. She sheathes her sword, frustration evident in her eyes.

“I cannot protect you. And I cannot expect you to be defenseless.” She turns and walks towards the bank. Towards the Breach. “I suppose… I should remember that you agreed to come willingly.”

Relieved, I snatch the bow up off the ground and run after her.

As we follow the river up the canyon, we encounter several more demons. After a while, I inquire where all the soldiers are, and she explains that they’re at the forward camp, fighting the bulk of the demons that are coming directly from the Breach.

At one point, we discover several bodies – message runners, from the looks of it. She sighs and whispers a short prayer for them to the Maker, then continues moving. I glance down at them.

Young. Two girls and a boy, looks like. Unlucky bastards.

One of them is an elf.

I crouch over her and mutter a short prayer. She deserves better than her final rites being prayed to the shem god.

One of the other two has a coin pouch on his belt. I take it and follow Cassandra.

We reach some stairs set into a hill, and I groan internally. “Didn’t you say it wasn’t far? We’ve come at least a mile.”

“And there are probably two or three more to go.” She heads up the stairs. “We’re getting close to the rift. You can hear the fighting.”

“Sorry, what? The Breach?”

“No, a smaller rift.”

“Oh. Oh, thank the gods. Don’t scare me like that.”

She chuckles, despite herself. “Hurry. We must help them.”

“Right.”

We reach the top of the stairs and run towards what looks like it might have been another bridge, though now it’s just a series of crumbled support walls. Up ahead, a strange, green, crystalline thing floats in the sky above several people fighting a wave of demons. The green thing – it must be the rift Cassandra talked about. It has the same feeling of crackling, very wrong magic.

I kneel at the edge of a small drop and fire from farther away while Cassandra lunges into the thick of it. As the demons drop, I follow her and get close just in time to see a dwarf fire a crossbow into a demon’s face from about four inches away. He looks up at me, but suddenly, someone grabs my hand and yanks me towards the rift – which now looks more like a weird, floating liquid – and yells, “Quickly! Before more come through!”

Before I really grasp what’s going on, the man gripping my wrist shoves my hand, open-palmed, at the rift, and I feel a jolt of magic run through it. It’s like when the Breach pulses, but not nearly as painful, and suddenly, with a crack and a splash of goop, the rift closes. I stagger backwards, cradling my hand, staring at the spot in the unblemished air where the green deformity was before.

“What…” I look over at the man. “What did you do?”

He cracks a small grin, and I notice that he’s an elf. I feel safer, suddenly, as he says, “I did nothing. The credit is yours.”

“I closed that thing? How? I’m not a mage.”

He shrugs. “Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand. I theorized the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the Breach’s wake, and it seems I was correct.” His voice holds a measure of smugness.

Cassandra walks up beside me. “Meaning it could also close the Breach itself.”

“Possibly.” He looks back at me. “It seems you hold the key to our salvation.”

I stare at him blankly.

“Good to know,” comes a voice from behind me. “Here I thought we’d be ass-deep in demons forever.”

I turn towards him, still shocked, as he introduces himself.

“Varric Tethras, rogue, storyteller, and occasionally, unwelcome tagalong.” He winks at Cassandra, and she makes a face.

My mind is still swirling, and the first thing that comes out of my mouth is an utterly idiotic compliment on his crossbow. He laughs.

“Ah, she’s beautiful, isn’t she? Bianca and I have been through a lot together.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You named your crossbow Bianca?”

“Of course.”

Right, I think. My bad. Of course.

“And she’ll be great company in the valley,” he continues.

“Absolutely not!” Cassandra cuts in. “Your help is appreciated, Varric, but –”

“Have you been in the valley lately, Seeker?” he interrupts. “Your soldiers aren’t in control anymore.” His eyes gleam, and he smirks at her. “You need me.”

She glares at him for a moment, then makes a noise of disgust and walks away.

“Well,” the elven man says, “My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions.”

“I’m Lyra,” I say, finally managing to get my name out for the first time today. I don’t think Cassandra or Leliana even knew it.

He smiles again, and my heart flutters. “I’m pleased to see you still live.”

“He means, ‘I kept that mark from killing you while you slept’,” Varric says.

I glance at the dwarf, then back to Solas. “You know things about the mark?”

Cassandra cuts in before he can respond. “Solas is an apostate, well-versed in such matters.”

Solas glances at her, miffed, and retorts, “Technically, all mages are now apostates, Cassandra.” Then he looks back at me, and explains, “My travels have allowed me to learn much of the fade, far beyond the experience of any circle mage. I came to offer whatever help I can give with the Breach. If it is not closed, we are all doomed, regardless of origin.”

“And what will you do, once this is over?” I ask. “An elf, and an apostate? The Chantry is…” I glance at Cassandra, and he gives me a knowing look.

“One hopes those in power will remember who helped, and who did not.” He turns back to Cassandra. “You should know, Cassandra, that the magic involved here is unlike any I’ve seen. Your prisoner is no mage. Indeed, I find it difficult to imagine any mage having such power.”

He’s defending me. He already believes I’m not guilty.

Cassandra simply nods. “Understood. Come, we must get to the forward camp quickly.”

The two of them move off, and Varric walks up beside me.

“Well,” he sighs, “Bianca’s excited.”

I chuckle and follow him.

We make our way down the bank, as the road ahead is blocked, and back out onto the river. It’s nice to have two more people with us as we run into more demons, especially because it seems the number of demons is increasing as we get closer. We clear the river, and after a short battle with a smaller wraith, Solas sticks the butt of his staff in the snow to clean the blood from the blade and looks at me.

“You are Dalish,” he says – a statement of fact rather than a question. “I don’t imagine your entire clan came to the Conclave. Did they send you here?”

“Yes. And you?” I gesture to his face, which is clear of the vallaslin.

He was nice to me earlier, and defended me to Cassandra. But when he mentions the Dalish, he seems almost confrontational. It’s clear to me that he’s not a fan of my people, which strikes me as odd, since he’s an elf. But many people walk different paths, and it’s hardly my place to judge his. He seems kind. That’s what matters.

“I have wandered many roads in my time.” He pulls his staff from the snow and polishes the blade with a rag. “I’ve crossed paths with your people on more than one occasion, but no, I am not one of them.”

“I see.”

He seems as though he expected more, but before he can speak again, Cassandra insists we move.

My hand acts up again a few minutes later. It doesn’t seem as bad as last time, and I manage to tough it out without falling down. Still, Varric glances at me with concern. He doesn’t mention it, though, instead asking, “So, are you innocent?”

“I don’t remember what happened.”

He shakes his head, grinning at the dark humor of it all. “That’ll get you every time. Should’ve spun a story.”

“That’s what _you_ would have done,” Cassandra mutters accusingly.

“It’s more believable! And less prone to result in premature execution.”

Oh, gods, that’s right. So many people want me dead right now. My stomach curls in on itself. I’ll have to deal with that.

If I even survive today.

We rip through another patch of demons. Cassandra seems worried, glancing occasionally towards out destination and fiddling with the straps of her armor.

“I hope Leliana made it through all this.”

Varric looks over at her, and his eyes soften. “She’s resourceful, Seeker.”

“We will find out for ourselves soon enough,” Solas says, matter-of-fact. “We are almost to the forward camp.”

“When you say almost, is it like Cassandra saying ‘not far’ or do you actually mean almost? Because at this rate, I may not even make it to the Breach.”

He laughs. “I do actually mean almost. It’s just up this hill.”

Cassandra leads the way, per the norm. As she crests the top of the hill, she yells, “Another rift!”

“We must seal it,” Solas says to me.

“Right. Easy for you to say,” I mumble, nocking an arrow. I’m not sure I know _how_ to seal it. Last time, Solas shoved my hand at it and it just… closed. Can I even repeat that?

We clear the demons. The rift closes just as before – I put my palm out towards it, and with a jolt of magic and a slightly painful tingle, it snaps closed. Cassandra calls to the men at the gate to open it for us.

“Well done,” Solas says, striding past me.

“I have no idea how I’m doing that.”

“As long as it keeps working, I don’t think anybody cares how you’re doing it,” Varric says.

“Better not stop working, then,” I mutter under my breath.

As we walk through the gates, I hear Cassandra breathe a sigh of relief and murmur Leliana’s name. She quickly regains her harsh composure, however, and walks towards a stack of boxes. “Are any of you injured? There should be some potions around here somewhere.” She rummages through a crate and pulls out several small vials. “They’re not great, and not tasty, but they’ll keep you running until we can find a real healer.”

She passes them around and everybody accepts a couple. Solas throws one back immediately, then hisses in distaste and puts a hand to his upper arm, where there’s some blood seeping through his shirt. Varric attaches his to his belt, and I tuck mine into my pockets. I haven’t sustained any serious injuries yet, luckily.

We’re on another bridge. A huge one, like the very first one. As Cassandra leads us across, I hear Leliana’s voice up ahead – she’s arguing with a man dressed in Chantry garb.

“We must prepare the soldiers.”

“We will do no such thing,” the man snaps.

“The prisoner must get to the Temple of Sacred Ashes. It is our only chance.”

“You have already caused enough trouble without resorting to this exercise in futility!” he shouts.

She speaks back much more calmly. “I? Have caused –?”

Her eyes flash up when she hears Cassandra approach, and a small grin of relief flashes across her sharp, pale features. The man straightens up, glaring.

“Ah. Here they come.”

Leliana steps around the table towards us. “You made it! Chancellor Roderick, this is –”

“I _know_ who she is,” he interrupts. Shifting his gaze to Cassandra, he says, “As Grand Chancellor of the Chantry, I hereby order you to take this criminal to Val Royeaux to face execution.”

I look at Cassandra, feeling my stomach twist again. She said there would be a trial.

Her eyes flash dark with rage, and I’m grateful it’s not directed at me this time. She steps towards the Chancellor threateningly. “Order me? You are a glorified clerk. A bureaucrat.” She spits the word.

He glares back, somehow not intimidated by her at all. “And you are a thug, but a thug who supposedly serves the Chantry.”

Leliana cuts in. “We serve the Most Holy, Chancellor, as you _well_ know.”

He throws his hands up. “Justinia is dead! We must elect a replacement, and follow _her_ orders on the matter!”

My annoyance is matched only by the hysteric hilarity of the situation. “So none of you are actually in charge here.”

The Chancellor’s eyes snap to me, furious. “You _killed_ everyone who was in charge!”

There’s a moment of stunned silence. Cassandra sighs and walks forward, standing across the table from him. He shakes his head.

“Call a retreat, Seeker. Our position here is hopeless.”

“We can stop this before it’s too late,” she says, almost gently.

“How?” he asks, sounding defeated suddenly. “You won’t survive long enough to reach the temple, even with all your soldiers.”

“Charging with the soldiers is the fastest route. We _must_ get to the temple.”

“But not the safest,” Leliana says. “Our forces could charge as a distraction while we go through the mountains.”

“We lost contact with an entire squad on that path,” Cassandra argues. “It’s too risky.”

The breach pulses again. Everyone’s eyes flash to me as my hand acts up, stinging painfully and making that strange crackling noise. I wince and breathe out sharply, grabbing it with my other hand, focusing all my energy on staying upright. Varric sets a hand on my back, steadying me until the green flare dies down with a final crackle of energy.

Cassandra steps towards me. “How do you think we should proceed?”

I blink. “Sorry, you’re asking for _my_ opinion?”

“You have the mark,” Solas points out.

“And you are the one we must keep alive,” Cassandra says. “Since we cannot agree on our own…”

I close my eyes for a moment. Have shems always been this foolish?

“The mountain path. I’m not a front-line fighter. Charging would be difficult and deadly.” I look up towards the mountains. “We need to work together. You all know what’s at stake.”

With our course of action finally decided, Leliana and Cassandra snap to work, sending messengers running and gathering forces to send into the valley. Finally, as Leliana runs towards the front lines, Cassandra comes back to me, Solas, and Varric.

“Let’s go.”

We walk past the Chancellor as we leave, and without looking at us, he says, “On your head be the consequences, Seeker.”

Her shoulders stiffen, but she doesn’t respond. As we exit the other side of the bridge, I glance back at him. He looks… defeated. Hopeless.

It takes us about a half hour to hike up to the tunnels. Cassandra leads the way, tireless, and Solas follows her, while Varric hangs at my side. He seems to want to talk to me, to ask me something, but instead he just gives encouragement every so often and catches me if I slip. I’ve never actually met a dwarf, and it’s surprising to me how strong he is, despite only coming up to my ribcage.

At long last, we reach a set of ladders that lead us up to the tunnel.

“These tunnels are part of an old mining complex,” Cassandra says as we reach the entrance. “We must be careful.”

“And the missing soldiers are in there?” Varric asks.

“Along with whatever has detained them,” Solas says.

Further conversation is cut off as we enter the tunnel and a wispy green wraith floats around the corner. Cassandra gives a war cry and lunges towards it as Solas slams his staff into the ground, casting a protective spell. Considering our backgrounds, we work surprisingly well together. I mention this to Varric, and he just shrugs.

“War facilitates necessity.”

“Oh.”

We walk together for a moment, passing through the cobbled tunnels and bridges that span yawning chasms.

Finally, I ask, “Why are you here, Varric?”

He sighs. “Cassandra had questions, and she believed I had answers, so she brought me here. I’m technically a prisoner, too, if it makes you feel any better.”

I glance down at him and allow myself a small smile. “A little less lonely, perhaps.”

The tunnel is surprisingly short for a mining complex. As we exit on the other side, I hear Cassandra whisper, “Oh, no.”

“Ah,” Varric murmurs, stepping out behind her. “Guess we found the soldiers.”

I crouch down beside a body as the others move on ahead, checking the snow for the dead. A quick rummage through the man’s pockets turns up a jeweled bracelet and a coin pouch. I pocket both before anyone can see me.

“This cannot be all of them,” Cassandra says, counting.

“So the others could be holed up somewhere ahead,” he replies, hope staining his deep, singsong voice.

“Our priority must be the Breach,” Solas interrupts. “Unless we seal it soon, no one is safe.”

“I’m leaving that to our elven friend here,” Varric says. “If the rest of the squad is still alive out there, I’ll be helping them.”

I pause and look up at the sky. The swirling green vortex is almost directly above us, now, and the pillar of green smoke that extends from the clouds to the ground can’t be more than a half mile off. When I sigh and drop my eyes to continue following, I catch Varric watching me. His eyes are soft. I know he feels bad for me.

I don’t know what to feel yet. I’m mostly still terrified that the shem are going to have me killed. I don’t even remember if it was my fault that the Conclave blew up – I don’t imagine it would have been, but what good is the honor of an elf to humankind?

We follow the path for a while. As we come around a copse of trees, I hear a familiar crackle of wrong magic up ahead, and alert the others.

“There’s a rift ahead.”

Solas glances at me. “How do you know?”

“I can hear it. Can’t you hear it?”

He narrows his eyes slightly, looking to the path ahead. “I can hear the screeches of demons, now. I will inquire further later.”

I take my bow off my back and nock an arrow. “Hope I’m alive to answer all your questions.”

The rift comes into view and Cassandra charges in. Varric and I cover her advance with arrows, while Solas fires bolts of icy energy. Under my breath, I curse the woman’s impatient spirit and thoughtless fighting style. She’s going to get herself killed.

As we draw close, it becomes clear that there’s several people fighting the demons already. They don’t look good. Had we been a few minutes later, they might not have been so lucky. As it is, we clear the demons and I close the rift. Solas walks up beside me, examining the air.

“Sealed, as before,” he says. “You are becoming quite proficient at this.”

I rub the palm of my affected hand with my thumb. “I still have no idea how it works.”

Varric chuckles. “Well, then, let’s hope it works on the big one.”

“Lady Cassandra!” cries one of the soldiers.

“Lieutenant! You’re alive!”

“Hah, barely. Thank the Maker you finally arrived. I don’t think we could have held out much longer.”

I watch in amusement as Cassandra’s nose twitches – she hadn’t even _wanted_ to come this way. I wonder what she’ll say. Accept the praise she doesn’t deserve? Probably.

To my shock, however, she sighs and turns to me. “Thank Lyra, lieutenant. She insisted we come this way.”

The other woman blinks at me. “Lyra – the prisoner?”

I shrug and fire off the first witty remark that comes to mind: “Closing rifts and saving soldiers. It’s what I do. Apparently.”

She presses a fist to her chest and bows slightly. “You have my sincere gratitude.”

“Ah. Uh. You’re welcome.”

Cassandra saves me from my awkward words of thanks by saying, “The way into the valley behind us is clear, for the moment. Go while you still can.”

She nods and gestures to her squad. “At once.”

As they run back up the snow-packed path, Solas speaks up. “The path ahead appears to be clear of demons, as well.”

“Lucky us,” I mutter.

“Let’s hurry, before that changes,” Cassandra says, setting out at a jog.

We have to slide down a few ladders, and the path is steep. Clearly not a usual route into the temple. As we walk, Varric speaks to Solas.

“So… holes in the fade don’t just accidentally happen, right?”

“If enough magic is brought to bear, it _is_ possible.”

“But there are easier ways to make things explode.”

“That is true,” Solas replies, a hint of fear and worry coloring his voice.

Cassandra glances back at them. “We can consider how this happened once the immediate danger is past.”

Varric makes a sour face at her. “Nothing wrong with making conversation, Seeker.”

Solas turns to me. “Your mark hasn’t bothered you for nearly an hour now. The last time was while we were in the mining tunnels.”

“Oh, uh, yeah.” I open and close my fist a couple times. “It seems like using it on the rifts discharges it somehow. Otherwise, it just builds up this weird green energy until it cracks.”

“Hmm. Interesting.”

“I think… probably… if I hadn’t used it on the rift when we saved the soldiers, it would have gone off by now.”

“You seem to be developing a grasp of how it works.”

“I don’t understand the disease, but I do what I can to treat and avoid the symptoms,” I reply with a shrug. “The magic is beyond me. Like you said, I’m not a mage. But I was paying attention to the timing so that I’d be prepared for the pain.”

“I see.”

At long last, we move down through a small crevice in the rock, where a staircase has been built. When we emerge, the sight that greets me is so, so much worse than I could have imagined.

Most explosions just sort of flatten a place. This one left massive, sharp, brutal spines of black stone protruding from the ground, forming a hundred-foot wall. The ground is blackened, the snow dusted with ash. Broken bits of cobblestone buildings are strewn across the area. Above, the vortex of green with massive stones floating beneath it, and all around us, swirling mist of the same color. We leap down into what appears to be the main entrance area – or what used to be the main entrance area, anyway – and are greeting by fires and corpses.

“The Temple of Sacred Ashes,” Solas informs us unnecessarily.

“What’s left of it,” Varric murmurs.

“That is where you walked out of the fade, and our soldiers found you,” Cassandra says softly. “They say a woman was in the rift behind you.”

I nod. “You mentioned the woman before.”

“Do you really not remember anything?”

“I vaguely remember being chased, and, yes, a woman. But I don’t… I don’t know who, and I don’t know if I can trust these memories. If I stepped out of the fade, then…”

She sighs. “This way. There’s an entrance.”

We follow a short, twisted corridor of blackened cobblestone filled with smoldering corpses. Many of the skeletal figures are upright, lunging towards the outer door. The scene is one of panic. Desperation. Pain.

I hear a sharp intake of breath from Cassandra, and walk up beside her to see what she’s looking at.

I was in the temple during the Conclave. I remember that much, from before the dark gap in my mind. It was an incredible place – one of the shemlen’s holiest temples. It was crafted of white marble, filled with glorious, sweeping architecture and light.

Now it’s a crater. The floor far below is perhaps two hundred yards of mostly flat, blackened stone, with a broken statue rising in the center. Massive stone spikes jut up and out all the way around the hole, and in the center, twisting and crackling above the statue, is a vaguely crystalline tear – just like the others, but at least four times as large. Extending up from it is the twisting pillar of green smoke, all the way to the hole in the sky.

Varric gives a low whistle, but we are all struck speechless at the view.

After a moment, there are footsteps behind us, and Leliana’s voice says, “You’re here! Thank the Maker.”

I turn. Her stunning purple leather armor is spattered with blood and gore, and she’s followed by perhaps two dozen soldiers.

Cassandra eyes the group over and addresses Leliana. “Have your people take up positions around the temple. I’ll get Lyra down there.”

Leliana gives a terse nod, then turns and begins directing her squad. Cassandra looks down at me.

“This is your chance to end this,” she says, and somehow, there is no fear in her eyes. “Are you ready?”

I rub my left thumb across my marked palm and gaze up at the Breach. Ah, yes. The fear she should be feeling belongs to me. I can feel a tremor in my voice as I say, “I suppose I have to be. I’m not sure I can reach the Breach itself, though… it’s…” I glance up. “In the sky.”

Solas shakes his head, almost laughing at me. “The rift there,” he says, nodding to the one just above the broken statue, “is the first, and the largest. If you seal it, that should seal the Breach.”

“Then let’s find a way down,” Cassandra says, heading to my right onto a sorry excuse for a path. “Follow me. Watch your step.”

The ground is littered with even more broken stone here. As we make our way along the path, which perhaps used to be a balcony of the temple, we pick our way past a few of Leliana’s people. They nod to us. I notice that on many of the jutting stone spikes, there are bizarre threads of green, pulsating light. Everything about this place reeks of evil and wrong, and it only gets worse when I stumble over a shimmering, crystalline red rock. Varric hisses.

“You know this stuff is red lyrium, right, Seeker?”

“I see it, Varric,” Cassandra says.

“But what’s it _doing_ here?”

“I don’t know, Varric.”

“Magic could have drawn on lyrium beneath the temple,” Solas says. “Corrupted it.”

“Ugh. It’s evil,” Varric mutters, stepping carefully past a pile of it. “Whatever you do, don’t touch it.”

I make a mental note to ask him about that later. I’ve never heard of red lyrium.

Finally, we make our way around a bend and come to a set of stairs that leads us within safe jumping distance of the crater floor. Cassandra and I lead the way, leaping to the ashy stone below. As we walk towards the center of the crater, my hand crackles in time with the rift, numbness and pain shooting through it. I lift it, opening and closing my palm a few times to try and disperse the feeling.

Suddenly, a voice echoes through the crater – a woman’s voice, crying, “Someone, help me!”

And then… my voice, panicked, confused, angry. “What’s going on here?!”

Cassandra stares up at the oscillating green. “That was your voice. Most Holy called out to you, but… Solas, what is this?”

Before he can respond, the rift cracks dangerously and a vision flashes through our minds: Divine Justinia, suspended and manacled by magic, face to face with a shadowy creature with red eyes. Then, me, intruding on the scene, demanding to know what’s going on.

 _“Run while you can! Warn them!”_ Divine Justinia cries to me.

The shadowy creature seems unperturbed, and turns to look at me with blazing eyes. _“We have an intruder. Slay the elf.”_

As we snap out of the vision, Cassandra lunges forward and grabs me, fury darkening her eyes again. “You _were_ there! And the Divine, is she…? Was this vision true? What are we seeing?”

I wince away from her cutting voice. “I still don’t remember. I’m sorry.”

Solas cuts in, his calm and collected voice bringing sense to the situation. “Echoes of what happened here. The Fade bleeds into this place.” He turns to Cassandra, who releases me and steps towards him. “This rift is not sealed, but it is closed, albeit temporarily. I believe that with the mark, the rift can be opened, and then sealed properly and safely.” He looks over at me. “However, opening the rift will likely attract attention from the other side.”

“That means demons,” Cassandra says, and turns to shout at the soldiers positioned around the crater. “Stand ready!”

A flurry of activity fills the area as soldiers take up positions on the balcony with bows and the ground with swords drawn. Varric and Solas flank me as Cassandra and Leliana direct the troops.

“You alright, kid?” Varric asks.

“Ask me that when this is over.”

“If we survive, I promise I won’t forget to ask.”

Finally, Cassandra gives me a nod, then steps into place behind Varric, while Leliana moves behind Solas. It almost makes me grin to think about how they’re depending on me, a Dalish elf who is quite possibly the criminal who killed their Divine, to close this rift. Like, if I’m the one who caused it, I could probably use this moment to make it so much worse for them.

They’re goddamn lucky I’m not at fault here.

I reach up towards the rift and feel the now-familiar jolt of magic, except this time it’s… backwards? Because I’m opening it instead of sealing it? It’s difficult to describe, but I suppose what’s important is that it works. With a flash of green lightning and a horrifying roar, a demon six times the height of the average elf, covered in ridged grey skin, with perhaps a dozen eyes, falls from the rift. Cassandra thrusts her sword into the air and gives a war cry, and everyone around me plunges into the battle.

My hand is shaking uncontrollably, still numb from whatever the hell I just did with it. I stumble backwards, gripping it with my other hand, staring at the demon. It has long, wickedly curved horns, and jutting from its lower arms are thorny spines twice as long as I am tall. It’s a heavily armored beast, and it’s not going to be easy to take out.

I wriggle my fingers as feeling returns and yank my bow off my back. An ice spell encases the demon’s torso, and Cassandra leads the soldiers in hacking at the beast’s legs. I nock an arrow and back away step by step, watching for an opening.

The demon snarls and swipes away the swordsmen at its feet, then straightens up, laughing. Electricity sparks between its clawed hands. Then, suddenly, it lifts its hand and yanks a whip of lightning across the ground, stunning and knocking back Cassandra and the soldiers with a dangerous, hot sizzle. The air smells charred, and my hair is standing on end.

Gritting my teeth, I loose an arrow. It flies true, thunking directly into one of the beast’s many eyes. It howls and lashes out as I slink away, behind the base of the statue. There are formations of red lyrium stabbing out of the ground back here. Avoiding them carefully, I circle to the other side of the statue and peer around the corner.

The demon has charged towards a far corner of the crater, where Leliana has leapt atop a crumbled wall and is shooting rapid-fire into the beast’s eyes. My eyes flicker up to the rift. Maybe I can disturb the magic keeping it here? If I could stun it, even for just a moment, it would give us a massive advantage.

It yanks out the electric whip again and slashes at the wall Leliana is standing on, causing it to topple. Leliana leaps away just in time, and I lift my hand in the direction of the rift.

Unlike the other times, nothing happens right away. I grumble under my breath and seek out the magic. Surely there’s _something_ I can do here that will throw the demon off.

Finally, after a few seconds of cursing and praying in turn, I feel a jolt of magic in my hand. It pulsates upwards into the rift, and I scowl, focusing, focusing… the demon lets out an ear-rending yowl and collapses to its knees. Cassandra gives a cry, and the soldiers lunge forward. I level my bow and slam a shot into another of its eyes.

Our luck only lasts a moment. The demon rises back to its feet and extends a hand, creating a ball of lightning that it shoots at Varric, and someone screams that there are more coming through the rift.

A clawed monstrosity with a dozen pitch eyes and slavering fangs rises from the bubbling ground in front of me. I shriek and move backwards, but not before it slashes its claws down at me, ripping along my arm and tearing into the muscle. I yank out my knife and leap forward, bringing the short blade down into its oozing ribcage. It lets out an ungodly howl, throwing goop onto my face, then suddenly freezes into a block of ice and shatters from behind. Behind it, I see Solas turn back to the larger demon, and Varric catches me as I fall forward.

“Listen, kid,” he says, yanking a potion off his belt. “You are the _one_ person here who absolutely cannot die today, understand? Drink this. And whatever the hell you did that made the demon collapse, do it again, okay? Let us take care of the little ones.”

I throw back the sour-tasting health potion and feel vitality pulse through me. It doesn’t heal the gashes on my arm, but I sure can’t feel them anymore. I straighten up with a grunt as Varric throws himself back into the fray, and I reach up towards the rift again. It’s easier to draw out the desired effect this time, and a shockwave blasts the demon before he can let loose another ball of lightning. Cassandra and the soldiers fall onto it, slashing and hacking. I level my bow…

And collapse.

After what could have been either seconds or hours, I hear someone shouting my name.

“Lyra, do it! Now! While the demon is down!”

“She’s unconscious, Seeker!”

Then there are hands on my arms, under my head, something cold on my lips. I gasp awake, and they help me upright, nervously eyeing the demon that’s fallen to its knees beside the statue.

“Can you do it?” Cassandra asks.

“Yeah, I…” I stumble forward, one hand gripping Solas’ arm and my marked hand outstretched. Magic pulses through my entire body as I focus all my power into the rift, trying to make it close like the others.

There’s a crack, a rumble, and then… darkness.


	2. Haven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, look, more tutorial. Welcome to Haven, where you learn the big 3: potions, requisitions, and crafting!
> 
> A few things:
> 
> 1\. I fucking love Adan. That grumpy son of a bitch is the light of my life.  
> 2\. Lyra is going to be flirting with everyone for a little while. That's just her personality.  
> 3\. Holy shit Thedas is so huge and it takes so long to get anywhere okay I did some research and god are we lucky we get a timeskip and a loading screen instead of having to travel for six fucking days to get to the goddamned Hinterlands

Everything is soft.

I come to consciousness slowly, dreamily, becoming aware of things one by one: the pillow pressed against my cheek, the blankets tucked and tangled around me, the cool air on my face. There’s a flickering light, and muffled voices.

And then, all at once, like a razor against sheeps’ wool, pain.

I bite back a grunt of pain and open my eyes, scanning the room. It’s small. Homey. There are furs hanging from the walls, a lit candle at my bedside, and for some utterly incomprehensible reason, there’s a caged raven in the far corner. My eyes flutter closed again as recent events come crashing back into my memory.

The door creaks open, and quiet footsteps enter the room. I peer over the mound of blankets on my bed and discover a young elf holding a box, looking around the room with a small smile. When she notices me watching, however, that smile vanishes and she drops the box.

“Oh!”

I sit up, brushing the bedding aside, as she fumbles with her words.

“I… I didn’t know you were awake, I swear.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I grunt, massaging my neck with one hand. “I only just woke… oh. Oh my.”

She’s dropped to her hands and knees. “I beg your forgiveness, and your blessing. I am but a humble servant.”

Oh gods. Oh sweet gods. What is happening?

“You are back in Haven, milady. They say you saved us.” She’s still on her hands and knees, clearly terrified that I’m going to hurt her. “The Breach stopped growin’, just like the mark on your hand.”

I glance down at my left hand and make a face. “Please get up. I’m not going to hurt you.”

She scrambles to her feet and wrings her hands. “I’m sorry. You… you’re all anyone has talked about for the past three days.”

“Three days? I’ve been asleep for three days?”

“Yes, milady.”

“I’m not a human. You can relax,” I say. She’s too formal. Treating me like I’m her master, rather than her equal. “Take a deep breath, okay? You’re saying that people are happy with me?”

She seems even more nervous now. “I’m only sayin’ what I heard. I didn’t mean anyfin’ by it.” She steps backwards. “I’m certain Lady Cassandra would want to know you’ve wakened. She said, ‘At once.’”

It’s clear now that I’m not going to get this elf to relax. She’s viewing me as some sort of higher up. I sigh and stand up, feeling a deep ache in every bone in my body. “And where is the Lady Cassandra?”

“I-in the Chantry, with the Lord Chancellor,” she stutters, seemingly even more afraid now that I’ve risen. “At once, she said!”

Before I can ask anything else, she turns tail and bolts out the door.

I shake my head in frustration and lean down to check the box she had dropped. It’s got some healing supplies in it – elfroot, cotton bandages. Draped over a chair nearby is my set of simple armor I had worn to the Conclave, along with the bow I’d picked up and a quiver of arrows. I strip off the pajamas someone must have changed me into and struggle into my armor, hissing occasionally from the pain. My entire body hurts.

There’s a stack of notes on the table detailing my condition over the past several days, from the moment they found me after the explosion at the Conclave until what was probably this morning. The doctor seems grumpy, but I suppose I can’t blame him. I’ve really had a bizarre and difficult week, medically speaking.

As I flip through the notes, a sigh escapes me. I’m postponing the inevitable. I need to go talk to Cassandra.

I want nothing more than to just go the hell home, curl up with my halla, and sleep for a week, but I have a sneaking suspicion that they’re not going to let me leave. The mark on my hand is unique, and warrants study. Not only that, but from the way that elf phrased it – ‘the Breach stopped growing’ – mean that the Breach probably isn’t gone, and they’ll need my help to do that. And then there are the smaller rifts. If they don’t close with the Breach, I’ll have to close them individually.

It’s not just the shemlen who need me and the mark, it’s the entire world.

With that crushing thought firmly in my mind, I open the door and step outside.

The sunlight streams down into the valley that cradles Haven, glaring off the snow. It’s a stunning, clear day, and in front of my house, lined up, watching me, are at least two and a half dozen people.

My heart leaps into my throat, and I nearly step back into the house and slam the door. How long have they been standing here waiting?

Gritting my teeth, I walk forward, and they part to let me through. Soldiers keep back the civilians, who chatter excitedly.

“There she is!”

“That’s the Herald of Andraste.”

“They said, when she came out of the Fade, Andraste herself was watching over her.”

“Hush; we shouldn’t disturb her.”

“That’s her!”

I make it through the crowd, heading for the Chantry. As I walk, I hear whispers.

“She stopped the Breach from getting any bigger.”

“I thought she was supposed to close it entirely.”

“The Herald…”

“… of Andraste.”

Why me? Why are they saying this about me? It must have been… gods, Cassandra said there was a woman in the rift behind me when I fell out of the Fade after the Conclave. Are the shem assuming that their god, that _Andraste_ saved me?

Why would it be a shem god? Why not one of my gods?

There are several Chantry sisters hovering outside the building, discussing Chancellor Roderick and Cassandra and something called the ‘inquisition’ in hushed tones. I push open the doors and walk down the long corridor. Pews are shoved aside, leaving the walkway clear. As I approach the door at the far end, I hear Chancellor Roderick’s voice.

“Are you completely mad? She should be taken to Val-Royeaux immediately, to be tried by whomever becomes Divine.”

“I do not believe she is guilty,” retorts Cassandra’s voice. I pause outside the door, shocked.

“The elf failed, Seeker. The Breach is still in the sky. For all you know, she intended it this way!”

“I do not believe that.”

“That is not for you to decide.”

My heart has nearly stopped in my chest. Cassandra no longer believes I’m guilty? If she’s on my side, then I might actually have a chance at living through whatever happens next.

“Your duty is to serve the Chantry,” Roderick insists.

“My duty is to serve the _principles_ on which the Chantry was founded,” she snaps. “As is yours.”

Gods, he has the gall to try and guilt Cassandra into obeying him? What an ass. Before they can continue arguing, I open the door and enter the room, emboldened by the fact that whatever happens now, Cassandra doesn’t think I’m guilty of killing the Divine anymore. Of all the people I’ve met in the past week, she’s the one I’m most relieved to have on my side.

As I enter, all eyes in the room snap to me. Leliana is here too, and two guards beside the door. Roderick’s eyes flare.

“Chain her!” he snaps to the guards. “I want her prepared for travel to the Capitol for trial.”

Cassandra straightens up from looking at the map on the table. “Disregard that, and leave us.”

The guards salute and exit, closing the door behind them. I stifle a sigh of relief.

“You walk a dangerous line, Seeker,” Roderick sneers.

She approaches him, annoyance coloring her voice. “The Breach is stable, but it is still a threat. I will _not_ ignore it.”

“I did everything I could to close the Breach,” I say. “It almost killed me.”

Cassandra gives me a tiny, encouraging smile, but Roderick looks at me with distaste. “And yet, you live,” he says. “A convenient result, insofar as you’re concerned.”

“Have a care, Chancellor,” Cassandra says, her voice dangerous. “The Breach is not the only threat we face.”

“Indeed,” Leliana agrees. “Someone was behind the explosion at the Conclave. Someone Most Holy did not expect. Perhaps they died with the others… or have allies who yet live.” Her eyes rest threateningly on Roderick as she says this.

He takes a step backwards. “I am a suspect?”

“You, and many others.”

“But not the prisoner?”

Cassandra shakes her head. “I _heard_ the voices in the temple. The Divine called to Lyra for help.”

“So her survival, that thing on her hand,” he blusters, “all a coincidence?”

“Providence,” Cassandra corrects him. “The Maker sent her to us in our darkest hour.”

Oh gods. Here we go.

“I’m not – I don’t – okay.” I put my hands up. “I don’t particularly believe I’m any sort of ‘chosen one,’ and I’ve been born and raised to believe in Dalish gods. So I’m not exactly comfortable calling all this the will of the Maker, but I deeply appreciate your faith in my character, and I’m here to help.”

Cassandra gives a nod of acknowledgement. “I have not forgotten your ancestry. Whatever you are, and whatever you believe, you are exactly what we needed, when we needed it.” She turns around and moves towards the back of the room, looking for something.

Leliana looks at me, taking her eyes off of Roderick for the first time. “The Breach remains, and your mark is still the only hope we have of closing it.”

Roderick cuts in. “This is not for you to decide!”

Cassandra slams a thick tome onto the table, causing the candles to flicker. Roderick starts. She glares at him and points to the book. “Do you know what this is, Chancellor?”

He hesitates.

“A writ from the Divine, granting us the authority to act. As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn.” She stalks towards him, and he steps backwards under the pressure of her approach. “We will close the Breach, we will find those responsible, and we will restore order, with or without your approval.”

He glares at her, lost for words. After a tense moment where I’m afraid they’re on the brink of a fistfight, he turns on his heel and stalks out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Cassandra sighs in frustration and runs a hand through the short hair at the base of her skull.

Leliana puts a hand on the book, gazing down at it. “This is the Divine’s directive: rebuild the Inquisition of old. Find those who will stand against the chaos.” She looks up at me. “We aren’t ready. We have no leader, no numbers, and now? No Chantry support.”

“But we have no choice,” Cassandra says. “We must act now… with you at our side.”

This is turning out to be much bigger than I thought. My chest is tight with anxiety and fear, but both of them are gazing at me with desperate, honest hope. I tighten my left hand – my marked hand – into a fist, feeling the vague pins and needles and numbness in it. They need me.

I let a small smile crack my nervous exterior. “When I woke up, I certainly didn’t picture this outcome.”

“Neither did we,” Leliana says.

“Help us fix this, before it’s too late,” Cassandra says, extending her hand.

I hesitate. “If I refuse?”

“You can go, if you wish,” Leliana says, but her tone leaves me wondering.

“You should know,” Cassandra says, “that while some believe you are chosen, many still think you guilty. The Inquisition can only protect you if you are with us.” She sighs. “I cannot claim it will be easy if you stay, but you cannot pretend this has not changed you.”

For a moment, I consider. The world is in danger. Lives are at stake. And yet, I still desperately wish to just go home. These two women stand before me, resplendent, standing for what is right despite everything. Can I truly do anything less?

I reach out and clasp Cassandra’s forearm.

“I’ll do what I can.”

“That’s all we ask,” she says, a relieved smile splitting her cold features.

 

*  *  *

 

With the decisions made and the Inquisition officially “reborn,” Haven bursts into a flurry of activity. Cassandra tells me that I should rest, as I’m not yet fully recovered from my attempt to close the Breach. At her behest, I spend a full day in bed, being tended to by the skittish young elf, who slowly learns to relax around me.

The next morning, Cassandra requests my presence in the Chantry. When I arrive, she greets me at the door and we walk through the huge building together. As we walk, I try to rub some of the pins and needles out of my marked hand, and she catches the movement.

“Does it trouble you?”

“It feels like pins and needles that never go away.” I sigh and drop it back to my side. “I wish I knew what it was, or how I got it.”

Cassandra gives me a reassuring smile. “We will find out. What’s important is that the mark is now stable – as is the Breach. You’ve given us time, and Solas believes a second attempt to close the Breach might succeed, provided the mark has more power. The same level of power used to open the Breach in the first place. That is not easy to come by.”

“Sounds like fun!” I joke. “What harm could there be in powering up something we barely understand?”

She chuckles. “Hold on to that sense of humor.”

We enter the room at the back of the Chantry, where Leliana stands behind the table with two other humans – a man and a woman.

“May I present Commander Cullen,” Cassandra says. “Leader of the Inquisition’s forces.”

He sighs. “Such as they are. We lost many soldiers in the valley, and I fear many more before this is through.”

Hmm. Okay. He’s… unnecessarily dark and serious.

Cassandra gestures to the other woman. “This is Lady Josephine Montiliyet, our ambassador and chief diplomat.”

She smiles and dips her head. “Andaran atish’an.”

I blink. “You speak elven?”

An awkward laugh escapes her. “You’ve just heard the entirety of it, I’m afraid.”

Cassandra continues. “And of course, you know Sister Leliana. She is our spymaster.”

“Tactfully put, Cassandra,” Leliana says, rolling her eyes.

I give a shallow bow. “A pleasure to meet you all.”

“I mentioned your mark needs more power to close the Breach for good,” Cassandra says.

“Which means,” Leliana interrupts, “we must approach the rebel mages for help.”

“I still disagree,” Cullen says. “The templars could serve just as well.”

Cassandra sighs, frustrated. This is clearly an ongoing argument. “We need _power_ , Commander. Enough magic poured into that mark –”

“Might destroy us all!” he cuts in. “Templars could suppress the Breach; weaken it, so –”

“Pure speculation,” Leliana says.

He gives her a look. “I was a templar. I know what they’re capable of.”

Josephine steps in. “Unfortunately, neither group will even speak to us yet. The Chantry has denounced the Inquisition, and,” she looks over at me, “you, specifically.”

“That didn’t take long,” I mutter.

Cullen rolls his eyes. “Shouldn’t they be busy arguing about who’s going to become Divine?”

Josephine tsks. “Some are calling you, a Dalish elf, the Herald of Andraste. That frightens the Chantry. The remaining clerics have declared it blasphemy, and we, heretics, for harboring you.”

“Chancellor Roderick’s doing, no doubt,” Cassandra says.

“It limits our options,” Josephine continues. “Approaching the mages or templars for help is currently out of the question.”

I put up a hand. “Hold on. Just how am I the Herald of Andraste?”

“People saw what you did at the temple,” Cassandra explains. “How you stopped the Breach from growing. They have also heard about the woman seen in the rift when we first found you. They believe that was Andraste.”

“Even if we tried to stop that view from spreading –” Leliana starts.

“Which we have not,” Cassandra says.

Leliana glances at her, then back at me. “The point is, everyone is talking about you.”

Cullen tips his head. “It’s quite the title, isn’t it? How do you feel about that?”

“I’m not… I’m no herald of anything, particularly not Andraste.”

He chuckles. “I’m sure the Chantry would agree.”

“People are desperate for a sign of hope,” Leliana says. “For some, you’re that sign.”

“And for others, a symbol of everything that’s gone wrong,” Josephine points out.

“So, if I wasn’t with the Inquisition…”

Cullen shakes his head. “Let’s be honest – they would have censured us no matter what.”

“And you not being here isn’t an option,” Cassandra adds.

“I know we seem pretty powerless right now,” Leliana says, “but there is something you can do. A Chantry cleric by the name of Mother Giselle has asked to speak to you. She’s not far, and knows those involved far better than I. Her assistance could be invaluable.”

“Huh. Okay. Why would someone from the Chantry help a declared heretic?”

Leliana shrugs. “I understand she is a reasonable sort. Perhaps she does not agree with her sisters. Regardless, you should look into it.” She steps closer to the table and points to a location on the map. “You will find Mother Giselle in the Hinterlands, near Redcliffe. I believe she’s been assisting the refugees and tending to the wounded there.”

I nod. “I’ll head out today.”

“Good. In the meantime, Cullen, Josephine and I will discuss other options. Cassandra will accompany you to the Hinterlands.”

Cassandra turns to me. “We should take Solas, as well, in case your mark causes problems. And Varric, because if he’s trapped in Haven for one more day he’ll drive people mad with his blather. Why don’t you go talk to them, and get familiar with Haven? I have a few more things I’d like to discuss with Cullen, Leliana, and Josephine.”

“Okay. Come find me when you’re ready to leave.”

She nods and turns back to the others. I retreat into the main hall of the Chantry.

It feels strange to have suddenly been thrown into this. This Inquisition. This revolution. In a way, I still feel like I’m a prisoner, even though Leliana made it clear I’m free to leave. Either way, I’m an outsider when I stand in that room – four humans, with titles and purposes, and me, the Dalish elf with amnesia and an unexplained magical mark.

Well. Time to begin familiarizing myself with the Inquisition’s base of operations, I suppose.

To the left is a door that leads into a small, uninteresting bedroom. Perhaps where the higher-up clergy in the Chantry sleep? To the right is a door that leads into another small room with a couple of desks. One is covered in papers, lit with a candle. A woman sits at the other desk, studying dozens of strange knickknacks. Covering her workspace are varied items like bits of fur, small rocks, claws, teeth, arrowheads, broken armor…

I step up behind her and peer over her shoulder. She has a magnifying glass and is carefully looking over a chipped claw. She goes still as she sense my presence, and I step backwards as she turns around.

“Can I help you?” she asks, lifting a strange pair of goggles off her eyes and setting them on her desk.

“Sorry, I was just looking around.”

She squints at me. “Oh, you’re the Herald. Or, well, the one they’re calling the Herald, anyway.”

I let out an awkward laugh. “Yeah, that’s me.”

She stands up and brushes herself off. She’s wearing the garb of a Circle mage, blue with gold embellishments. She’s just shorter than me, with long, pointed ears.

“I hope the Inquisition can restore order soon,” she says. “I never really wanted to leave the Circle.” Her eyes scan me over, and I feel as though I’m being studied. “My name is Minaeve. I research demons and other creatures. Seeker Pentaghast and I use what I find to help the soldiers fight them.”

“You’re a mage, then?”

“No, just an apprentice. I’ve never been very good at magic. I’ve got just enough talent to be a danger to other people. But when the mages rebelled, people like me had nowhere to go. The templars would have killed us.” She runs her fingers through her short hair, pulling it off her face. “Luckily, Seeker Pentaghast took me in, along with the Tranquil I was protecting.”

“You were protecting Tranquil?”

She nods. “The mages took some of them when my Circle rebelled, but the rest were forgotten. Most Circle mages look down on the Tranquil, or try to pretend they don’t exist. They don’t have _any_ emotions. They can barely take care of themselves, can’t defend themselves at all… it’s a shame. I like them better than most people.”

“I’m glad you care about them. It’s admirable that you protected them.”

“They deserve better,” she says, and I can feel her passion in every word. “They’re polite, they’re rational, and they’ll never get angry at you. When they study, they have a focus no normal person could ever match. But the templars, and even some of the mages, mistreated them just because they could. The Tranquil never fought back. If not for that, I – I don’t know. It doesn’t really matter now.”

I rub the back of my neck. “I uh, I don’t have much power or sway in the Inquisition, but I’ll do what I can to ensure that the Tranquil will be safe here.”

She gives a relieved smile. “Thank you. I appreciate that. Seeker Pentaghast has been kind and accommodating so far, but I worry that she will begin to see them as a burden. If they were made to leave, I’d go with them, but…” she sighs. “I don’t like using magic to fight. I’m not good at it, either. I wouldn’t be able to protect them very well.” She glances back at her table. “I like studying. I liked performing rituals that helped us unlock the secrets of the Veil. And… I liked having the templars around to keep us safe.”

“A pity you weren’t Dalish. Our mages are encouraged to study safely.”

Her eyes darken. “Fen’Harel take the Dalish. Don’t let my lack of vallaslin fool you, _lethallin._ ” She sneers the last word, and I blink, taken aback. “I was a proud member of my clan until my magic manifested,” she continues. “You know what happens when they have too many mages. They gave me a pack and sent me into the woods to find my own life. I was _seven._ ”

My stomach twists. I’d seen the same thing happen in my own clan. It’s something, as a Dalish, that I’ve never been okay with: clans are allowed only two mages, to keep the dangers of magic to a minimum. If another elf begins to manifest magic, they’re sent away – even if they’re only a child. I’d had a brother who was kicked out at the age of twelve. I never saw him again.

“I’m so sorry.”

“I stumbled into a village, starving and cold, a few weeks later. I’d started using magic to scare predators away. The villagers saw me make fire in my fist. They were terrified and wanted to kill me. Templars saved me from them. They gave me food and clothes, and took me to the Circle.” She shakes her head. “I’ve seen what life is like without the templars, and I want no part of it. I just want to study.”

“So…” My mind stumbles around, still shocked by her revelation. “You’re studying creatures here, then.”

She nods, and her face lights up, the vestiges of her anger replaced by pure passion for her work. “Yes! If you find anything interesting in your travels, I’d appreciate you bringing it to me. I may be able to find some weaknesses our soldiers – and you – can exploit when fighting various creatures. At the least, some materials are useful for making potions or gear for the Inquisition.”

“Do you study other things, or just creatures?”

“Mostly creatures, for now. Without the resources of the Circle, it’s difficult to study much else, and this research is what we need right now. But I don’t mind. I like the outdoors. The idea of the outdoors, anyway.” Her voice darkens slightly, but then it’s gone. “When some monster is coming at you, glowing eyes and burning claws, it’s terrifying. But once you know how it works, you can deal with it. It’s just another part of the world. So much of this world is only frightening because we don’t understand it.”

“That’s really amazing. I don’t have anything right now, but I think I’ll be travelling out to the Hinterlands soon. I’ll bring you anything I find.”

She nods. “Thank you. I’ll do my best to help you, and the rest of the Inquisition, in any way I can.”

“I’ll talk to you later, then.”

She gives a wave and sits back down at her desk. I exit the room and close the door, then fall back against the wall, taking a moment to process. I shouldn’t have brought up the Dalish. But how could I have known? I don’t know what I was thinking. Gods, not every elf wants to be Dalish. Sometimes they’re just fine where they are.

I let out a deep sigh and drag my hands down my face. Either way, it’s done now, and she doesn’t seem angry with me. I can’t agonize over it all day.

Shaking off my anxious thoughts, I straighten up and move to the  next door along the Chantry’s main hall. Inside, there’s a staircase leading to a prison. The prison where I was kept before I attempted to close the Breach. Yeesh.

I decide that’s more than enough of exploring the Chantry, and step out into the bright midmorning sun. Directly in front of me are two tents – one has a couple of scouts milling inside, checking over papers, and the other is surrounded by boxes and bags of various supplies. There’s someone standing in front of that tent – an elf woman? Oh dear. It’s the elf who snarled at me, back when Cassandra was dragging me through town on our way towards the Breach. It looks like she’s the quartermaster. I wonder if she’s still angry with me.

No time like the present to find out, I guess.

She glances up when my footsteps crunch across the snow, and straightens. “If you’re here to clean, Hess can get you a bucket and a broom. Anyone calls you knife-ear, you come to me.”

I blink and pause. Not what I expected, but probably what I should have expected.

She tips her head. “You… oh! You’re her!” She visibly backpedals, and her entire demeanor shifts. “I’m Threnn, Inquisition quartermaster. I’m doing what I can to supply this mess. If you find what I need to fill one of my requisitions, I’d appreciate you bringing it in.”

“Requisitions?”

She nods. “I’m making this Inquisition run with what we have, but we’re not a real army. We’re stretched thin on materials and supplies, so I’ve put up a requisition list for anything that could help our people.” She leans over and shuffles through some papers on the table, then straightens and extends one sheet to me. “Here, take a look. If we could find some iron and a good logging site, maybe Harritt could get our troops better weapons.”

I glance over the sheet. “Do you… need this back, or may I keep it?”

“You can keep it. I’ve got ‘em all jotted down in that book there.” She points.

“Thanks. I’ll see what I can do.” I fold the sheet and tuck it into a pocket. Might as well make myself useful somehow. “Farewell.”

“Maker go with you.”

I wander away to the left, down some rough-hewn stairs, and discover the tavern. There’s soft music coming from inside, and general chatter. I push in. The barkeep might have more information for me about what’s in town, or where Varric and Solas are.

The bard in the corner has a stunning voice, and she’s singing a tune about the Breach. Nobody seems to notice as I walk in, and I make my way through the tiny building to the bar, where a young, human woman is wiping down some glasses. She glances up as I approach and her eyes widen.

“Oh, you’re her!” She giggles and fidgets with her dress sleeve, then brushes back her hair. “What can I do for you?”

“I was just wondering what I can find in Haven. Cassandra told me to familiarize myself, but I’m not even sure where to begin.”

She nods. “Of course! There’s Threnn, the quartermaster, in a tent just outside the Chantry. Do _not_ mention Teryn Loghain to her, unless you want a lecture about how misunderstood he is. Then there’s Adan. He’s the de facto healer for the Inquisition right now. If you leave through this door and head left up the stairs, there are three houses. He’s set up in the farthest one. Be warned: he’s grumpy.” She giggles again and bats her eyelashes at me. “Harritt is the smith. I hear he makes fantastic custom armor, if you get him the right materials for it. His shop is outside of town – turn left once you leave the gate and you should see the smithy. Then there’s Seggrit. He’s attractive, but a bit of an ass. He owns the only shop in town. If you go to the central plaza and head down the stairs, he’s to the left of the town gate.” She twirls a finger in a loose lock of her hair. “Anything else you need to know?”

She is… really laying it on thick. I clear my throat. “Um, do you happen to know where I might find Varric or Solas?”

“Sure. Varric usually hangs out in the central plaza. He likes to swear under his breath at the bonfire and tell anybody who will listen about his stories. Solas tends to hover near Adan’s house, for some reason.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it.”

She gives a little wave. “Maker go with you!”

Oh boy. I’m going to have to get used to that.

Following her directions, I find the trio of houses, and Solas leaning on a low stone wall, gazing at the Breach. When he hears my footsteps approach, he turns around and cracks a smile.

“The Chosen of Andraste,” he says by way of greeting. “The blessed hero sent to save us all.”

I can tell he’s poking fun at the shem, so I grin and play along. “Am I riding in on a shining steed?”

“I would have suggested a griffin, but sadly, they’re extinct.” He gives a small shrug. “Joke as you will, posturing is necessary.”

Ah. So he… wasn’t poking fun at the shem. He was serious, sort of. As he turns and wanders back to his stone fence, I try to untangle what that means. Posturing is necessary? Is another elf telling me to play along that I’m the chosen hero of the shem god?

“I’ve journeyed deep into the Fade in ancient ruins and battlefields to see the dreams of lost civilizations,” he says, eyes lost in thought. “I’ve watched as hosts of spirits clash to reenact the bloody past in wars both famous and forgotten.” He turns to me, and it seems as though he draws himself back to the present across centuries. “Every great war has its heroes. I’m curious what kind you’ll be.”

I evade his question, instead asking, “What do you mean by ruins and battlefields?”

“Any building strong enough to withstand the rigors of time has a history,” he explains. “Every battlefield is steeped in death. Both attract spirits. They press against the Veil, weakening the barrier between our worlds. When I dream in such places, I go deep into the Fade. I can find memories no other living being has ever seen.”

“You – I’m sorry, you fall asleep in the middle of ancient ruins? Isn’t that dangerous?”

“I _do_ set wards. And if you leave food out for the giant spiders, they are usually content to live and let live.”

“Damn. I imagine you find some amazing things in there. I’m not sure I’d be brave enough to dream in the Fade, what with the demons.”

He chuckles. “It is occasionally dangerous, yes, but more often it’s just sad to see what has been lost. The thrill of finding remnants of a thousand-year-old dream? I would not trade it for anything.” His eyes are distant again, lost in memory. Uncertain how to respond, I remain quiet. After a moment he shakes out of his thoughts and says, “I will stay. At least until the Breach has been closed.”

“Was that in doubt?”

He glances at me with a single dark eyebrow hiked up his forehead. “I am an apostate, surrounded by Chantry forces, in the middle of a mage rebellion. Cassandra has been accommodating, but I’m sure you can understand my caution.”

“You came here to help, Solas. I won’t let them use that against you.”

“How would you stop them?”

“However I had to.”

He takes pause at that, gazing at me. “Thank you.”

I give a small smile, then point over my shoulder. “I was, uh, gonna check out the apothecary. I should go.”

He gives the slightest of bows. “Of course. Dareth shiral.”

I step into the farthest house, and a bearded man with close-cut hair looks up from what must have been an argument he was having with another man. His eyes narrow, and then he guffaws.

“Look who’s back from the dead!” he says. “Again.”

“It _has_ been a rough few days,” I reply with half a grin.

The other man grumbles in annoyance and leaves.

“That’s an understatement,” the man who I’m assuming is Adan says. “And more ahead if the, ah, ‘weather’ is any indication. Name’s Adan. I’m in charge of keeping our little band here stocked with potions and elixirs. Not that Seeker Pentaghast seems to care whether we’ve got the supplies to actually _do_ that.”

“Can I help?”

He shakes his head. “We’re fine as far as raw labor goes. I’m sure you have more important things to be doing.”

“You don’t seem – pardon me, but you don’t seem particularly suited to being a healer.”

“I’m not a healer,” he says, and I can tell that’s been a sore spot for him. “I’m an alchemist who’s been forced to play mother hen. You want something to burst into flam on contact with the air? Done. Gladly. Patching up wounded soldiers is a waste of my time and talents.” He sighs. “But there are few around who can help, so here I am. If you need potions, you’ll need to gather most of the supplies yourself. We’re running low on pretty much everything. But for now I can get you set up with enough to keep you alive.”

“I appreciate it.”

“Yeah. Whatever. If you’re interested, I might be able to mix up some grenades for you, as well. Don’t have the herbs to spare right now, but bring me back some if you like.”

“Grenades? That might actually be great. Do you have a list of ingredients that I could look for? I’m not terribly well-versed in alchemy.”

He laughs. “A Dalish who doesn’t know shit about herbs? I’ll be damned.”

I roll my eyes. “To be fair, I was more of a hunter than a healer, myself.”

“Fair enough. I’ll have a list made up next time you drop by.”

“Thanks!”

He gets me set up with a belt full of healing draughts and waves me out. Solas is still out front, now sitting up against the wall and reading a book. Remembering that Cassandra told me to ask him to come with us later today, I request that he does so. He agrees readily, and I go to find Varric, since I was supposed to ask him to come, too.

As I approach him, sitting at the fire in the central plaza – if it can be called that – he catches sight of me out of the corner of his eye and says, “So, now that Cassandra’s out of earshot, are you… holding up all right?” He pushes himself upright. “I mean, you go from being the most wanted criminal in Thedas to joining the armies of the faithful. Most people would have spread that out over more than… Maker, what’s it been? Three days? Four?”

“I’ve probably only been conscious for one,” I laugh. “I’d say I’m dealing with a bit of whiplash. Honestly? I have no idea what’s happening anymore.”

“That makes two of us.” He gestures at a bench nearby and we sit down together. “For days now, we’ve been staring at the Breach, watching demons and Maker-knows-what fall out of it. ‘Bad for morale’ would be an understatement. I still can’t believe anyone was in there and lived.”

I run a hand over my face. “I’m still not sure I believe that any of this is really happening.”

“If this is all just the Maker winding us up, I hope there’s a damn good punch line coming.” He sighs and lowers his voice. “You… might want to consider running at the first opportunity. I’ve written enough tragedies to recognize where this is going.” He looks up at the Breach, still there, watching us like some sort of eye of the gods. “Heroes are everywhere. I’ve seen that. But the hole in the sky? That’s beyond heroes. We’re going to need a miracle.”

I let out a long, shuddering breath. “I can’t go. Not yet. I’m the only one who can do anything about that damn thing.”

He shakes his head. “Your good heart will get you killed. It almost did, already. But if you’re going to stay and help, I’ll stand behind you. At least for a little while.”

“Thanks, Varric.”

We sit quietly for a moment, each lost to our own thoughts. It felt good to speak honestly about the panic and fear I feel boiling in my chest. He’s a strangely comforting presence – gentle, friendly, almost familiar, though I know I’ve never met him before. I’ve never met _any_ dwarves before.

Finally, I break the silence. “Uh, speaking of standing behind me, Cassandra wants you to come with us later today. We’re going to go try and find a Chantry mother in the Hinterlands. I guess she wants to talk to me.”

“Sure,” he says. “It’ll do me some good to get out of this town. Just let me know when we’re leaving.”

I leave him to the bonfire and head out of town to check the blacksmith’s shop. The blacksmith, Harritt, explains how he can help me upgrade and customize my armor, as long as I provide materials and designs. While we’re discussing options for my current equipment, Cassandra arrives with Varric and Solas in tow.

“Time to go?” I inquire.

She gives a curt nod. “Let us move quickly. There is no telling what is happening in the Hinterlands right now, with the war going on. I had Threnn prepare some horses with supplies for us – it’s a six-day ride, though we may be able to make it faster, since there are only four of us.”

As we mount up and prepare to leave, Leliana exits Haven’s gate and approaches us. “I’ve sent word ahead to Scout Harding,” she says. “There should be an Inquisition camp awaiting you on the outskirts of the Hinterlands.”

Cassandra nods. “Thank you, Leliana.”

“Be safe. Maker go with you.”

Under my breath, I grumble, “And may Mythal be with you.”

Solas stifles a laugh and Leliana looks over at me. “Sorry, I didn’t catch that. What?”

“And may Mythal be with you!” I shout, kicking my horse into a gallop and hauling my elven ass down the road.


	3. Mother Giselle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can the rest of you hear Mother Giselle's voice in your mind as you read this? Her Orlesian accent lives there now.
> 
> I'm so gay for Cassandra, you guys. Can you tell? Also, I'm really enjoying giving Solas some extra *wink wink* *nudge nudge* lines. Shout out to this game for owning my heart, soul, and ass. (That's a lot of ass to own.)
> 
> I did a minor update to this chapter, adding some interaction between Solas and Lyra, where he asks about the mark. Sorry I posted it unfinished, lol.
> 
> This chapter is pretty short, but I felt like it was a good place to stop. I'm really delving into Lyra's motivations here.

It takes us about five days, riding through rocky and twisted mountain passes, to reach the outskirts of the region known as the Hinterlands. On the way, Solas takes time to question me about the mark – basic questions about my general mental and physical health, and then more in-depth questions.

“You said you can hear rifts,” he says. “I can hear the demons, of course, and strange sounds from the fade beyond – water, wind, whispers, and the like – as well as the crackling of magic. Is that what you meant?”

I shake my head. “It’s a very distinctive noise that the magic itself makes. It’s almost more of a feeling, really. The mark reacts when I approach rifts, and there’s this… it’s like a sixth sense. I can feel the presence of rifts before I can see or hear them. Like the mark is drawn to them. When I say I can hear it, it’s almost like a ringing in my ears, but with that crackling, uncomfortable wrongness. I’m not quite sure how to explain it.”

“That was actually very enlightening. Thank you.”

He’s actively jotting down notes as we ride, letting his horse simply follow as he writes.

“And you’ve mentioned, you’re not entirely sure how the magic of the mark is activated?”

I shake my head. “I reach out to a rift, and it just does its thing. Sometimes, if I focus, I can cause other effects – such as when I stunned that pride demon in the Temple of Sacred Ashes, or opened the rift rather than closed it. But it only seems to work when I’m near an existing rift. I couldn’t open one right here… I don’t think.”

He taps his charcoal pencil against his chin, staring at me intently. “Perhaps we could experiment with that.”

Cassandra whips around and pins him under her dagger glare. “Absolutely not.”

I laugh. “I don’t think it’d be wise, Solas.”

“Very well.” He jots down another note.

We ride in silence for several minutes, before a question I’ve been sitting on spills out of my mouth uninvited.

“I have to ask, Solas.”

“Hm?”

“The first time I closed a rift, you grabbed my wrist and put my hand up towards it, and it felt like… like you sent a jolt of magical energy through my hand. It felt like you activated my ability to close the rifts.” I twist the reins of my steed in my hands. “Is that… did you do that?”

He considers this for a moment. “I had been trying for some time to find a way to close the rifts. I was certain that the mark would be capable or closing them. Knowing that you were not a mage, I thought you might need a boost, so to speak. I wasn’t entirely sure what I was doing, but it was simply a harmless jolt of spirit magic. Do you feel that it helped?”

“I think it did. I think it’s what connected me to the mark.” I glance over at him. “You were just… guessing?”

“An educated guess. If it hadn’t worked, rest assured, it would not have harmed you.” He gives me a smile. “I’m simply glad that it did work.”

This line of questioning continues over the course of the trip, interspersed with Varric telling stories over the campfire and Cassandra sparring with the air while grumbling that she needs a sparring partner.

Otherwise, the travel is largely uneventful, with the occasional spat between Varric and Cassandra, as well as the occasional fade rift. Solas and Cassandra seem to agree that we should be sending soldiers and scouts to sweep every inch of the land seeking these rifts out so that I can close them. Varric points out that we really don’t have the manpower for that. Cassandra snaps at him that the Inquisition won’t be small forever, and that he needs to have a little more faith.

It’s a long five days.

As Leliana promised, there is a camp waiting for us. We’re greeted by a dwarven woman, who gazes at me with a little more awe and wonder than I entirely prefer.

“Herald of Andraste,” she says, a little breathily. “I’ve heard the stories. Everyone has. We know what you did at the Breach. It’s odd for a Dalish to care what happens to anyone else, but you’ll get no backtalk here. That’s a promise.” She straightens and salutes. “Inquisition Scout Harding, at your service. I – well, all of us here – will do whatever we can to help.

Varric grins. “Harding, huh? Ever been to Kirkwall’s Hightown?”

“I… can’t say that I have. Why?”

“You’d be Harding in Hi—” he shakes his head. “Oh, nevermind.”

Cassandra lets out a noise of disgust. Solas rolls his eyes.

“O…kay,” Scout Harding says.

I sigh. “Don’t worry about it. But, ah, I’m starting to worry about these stories that everyone’s heard about me.”

“Oh, there’s nothing to worry about,” she says, a sly grin crossing her mouth. “They only say you’re the last great hope for Thedas.”

“Ah. Great.”

She laughs, but then falls serious. “So, business. We came to secure horses from Redcliffe’s old horsemaster, Dennet. I grew up here, and people always said that Dennet’s herds were the strongest and the fastest this side of the Frostbacks. But with the mage-templar fighting getting worse, we haven’t been able to get to Dennet. Maker only knows if he’s even still alive. If you’re able, I’d appreciate you checking on him. His farm is out to the west.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks. I know you came to speak with Mother Giselle – she’s at the Crossroads helping refugees and the wounded. The war’s spread all the way there. Corporal Vale and our men are doing what they can to help protect the people, but they won’t hold out very long. You’d best get going. No time to lose.”

I nod. “Thanks, Harding.”

She dips her head in acknowledgment. “I need to head back to Haven – Leliana needs me elsewhere. But if you require anything, everyone in this camp is part of the Inquisition, and if something really big comes up, feel free to send a raven back to Leliana. Good luck, Herald of Andraste.”

She swings up onto a horse – quite a feat for her size – and rides back the way we came. Cassandra speaks with a scout and obtains us some fresh horses, and without a moment to rest, we’re back on the road.

It takes us about an hour to reach the Crossroads. As we emerge from a small canyon into the valley, we take stock of the scene of disarray before us. The town is very nearly in shambles. Magical frost coats portions of the ground, the trees are singed, and people are screaming. In the center of town, a small group of Inquisition soldiers are facing off against several mages and templars, clearly attempting to draw them away from the refugees.

Cassandra lunges past me, letting out a war cry. Solas mutters an incantation under his breath, shifting into a low, defensive stance. Varric hefts his crossbow and looks at me. “You take the north. I’ll keep the south clear.”

“What exactly is the plan here?” I ask, nocking an arrow.

“We keep the Seeker from dying until she’s done obliterating every rogue templar and apostate in the area,” he grumbles. “Then we help the refugees.”

I can’t help but laugh. Cassandra really is just… like that.

As I set my sights on a templar up the road, I make a mental note to ask Varric why he calls Cassandra Seeker. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him say her name.

We clear the area with little difficulty and spend a moment cleaning our weapons as Cassandra gives orders to the Inquisition scouts who are still alive. They move about, clearing away the dead and securing the perimeter of the Crossroads.

As Solas rubs some blood off his staff, Varric compliments his prowess in battle, and the way he handled the magic-sealing abilities of the templars with little issue. Solas just shakes his head.

“It’s obviously been some time since these templars faced a mage of any real skill,” he says. “For those well-trained in the magical arts, there are many ways around the blocking magic that the templars use.”

“Don’t let Cassandra hear you say that. She’ll have you locked up and interrogated until you die.”

Solas only chuckles.

The Inquisition scouts hang a banner in the center of town declaring the Crossroads to officially be under the protection of the Inquisition. Cassandra orders me to seek out Mother Giselle while she, Solas, and Varric provide assistance to the refugees. I nod and wander off, eyes peeled for the red and white robes of the Chantry.

It doesn’t take long to find her. The Crossroads is small. I walk up a set of cobble steps and see her kneeling beside a cot, talking in a thick Orlesian accent to an injured man. A circle mage stands behind her, dressed in orange and gold, wringing her hands.

“There are mages here who can heal your wounds,” the mother says. “Lie still.”

The man grits his teeth and snarls at the mage over the mother’s shoulder. “Don’t let them touch me, Mother. Their magic is…”

She tsks. “Turned to noble purpose, their magic is surely no more evil than your blade.”

He attempts to stutter a response, and she shakes her head.

“Hush, dear boy. Allow them to ease your suffering.”

She gestures for the mage behind her to approach the man, and I approach.

“Mother Giselle?”

As the mage crouches beside the cot, she rises from her knees and turns to look me over with mahogany eyes. Her skin is dark, and only the laughter lines at the corners of her eyes reveal her age. She wears one of those strange, tall Chantry hats, which I’ve come to recognize as a sign that she’s somewhat more important in the hierarchy of the Chantry.

“I am,” she says. “And you must be the one they’re calling the Herald of Andraste.”

“Not through any choice of mine. My name is Lyra Lavellan.”

She chuckles. “We seldom have much say in our fate, Lyra.”

“So you agree? That I’m the Herald?”

“I don’t presume to know the Maker’s intentions, for any of us. And I did not ask you to come simply to debate with me.” She walks past me, and I turn and follow. “Regardless of whether you are the Herald of Andraste, you are, at present, the best hope for Thedas. I know of the Chantry’s denouncement, and I am familiar with those behind it. I won’t lie to you: some of them are grandstanding, hoping to increase their chances of becoming the new Divine.” She comes to a halt, noticeably distanced from potential prying ears, and turns to me. “Some are simply terrified. So many good people, senselessly taken from us…”

I shake my head. “But don’t you stand with the rest of the Chantry?”

“With no Divine, we are each left to our own conscience – and mine tells me this. Go to them. Convince the remaining clerics that you are no demon to be feared. They have heard only frightful tales of you. Give them something else to believe.”

“That won’t just make it worse?”

“Because you are not human?”

“That, too.”

She gives a small, reassuring smile. “Let me put it this way, Lyra: you needn’t convince them all. You just need some of them to doubt. Their power is their unified voice – take that from them, and you receive the time you need.”

I squeeze the bridge of my nose and screw my eyes shut. There is nothing I want less than to go before the remaining leaders of humanity’s principal religion and try to convince them I’m not a demon. “So… I show up, say hello, show them the mark on my hand…?”

“I don’t honestly know if you’ve been touched by fate, or sent to help us, but… I hope. Hope is what we need right now. The people will listen to your rallying call, as they will listen to no other. You could build the Inquisition into a force that will deliver us, or destroy us.”

She pauses, and I look up at her. Her dark eyes gaze out over the Crossroads, watching the refugees. They gather in bunches, praying, trading, desperately trying to help the injured. Some of them notice me and point, but thankfully, none draw close.

Mother Giselle seems to think that I will be the one to build the Inquisition up. She called it _my_ rallying call. The concept fills me with dread. Ever since I awoke in that dungeon in the basement of Haven’s Chantry, I’ve been trying to stay quiet, keep to myself, and do as I’m told. The shem don’t view my kind fondly, and the idea of becoming the spearhead – or worse, the showpiece – of a shem religion’s holy army is not appealing. I just want to close the Breach and go home.

The mother’s voice breaks through my thoughts. “I will go to Haven and provide Sister Leliana the names of those in the Chantry who would be amenable to a gathering. It is not much, but I will do whatever I can.”

She turns and walks back to where we came from, heading towards the group of cots and injured refugees. I stand where she left me for a while, my mind reeling. The certainty, the devotion in her voice – _“I will do whatever I can.”_ – leaves me ashamed. This whole time, I’ve been coming from a place of fear, wanting nothing more than to give the mark to someone else and flee home. But deep down, I know that’s impossible, and now, with her words, I understand clearly.

The mark – my mark – is the only thing capable of closing rifts. I am the only one who can close the Breach. I am the only one who can stop the endless assault of demons coming from the fade rifts that have torn open all across Thedas, and possibly even the world.

I lift my hand and gaze at my palm. It’s crackling a little, glowing green. I need to close a rift and disperse the magical energy before it snaps and causes me a great deal of pain.

I take a deep breath and clench my fist.

There’s no escaping the fate that’s been laid before me.

I will do _whatever I can_.


	4. Templar Encampment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first half of this chapter is me trying to brush through a lot of the Hinterlands information and interactions as quickly as possible. It's difficult to judge what's important to keep sometimes. There's a lot of dialogue in the game that can be skipped over, but on the other hand, there's a lot of travel time and just... like... in between stuff that works fine in a game, but doesn't quite track in a novel. Like the Inquisition camps. Those are weird. They're a necessary game mechanic, but I'm not sure it's very realistic to have and maintain... oh, wait. The camps aren't permanent. Of course! They have preferred camping spots, but the camp itself moves with them. Duh.
> 
> Anyway. I'm pretty proud of the second half of the chapter. It was fun to write, so I hope it's fun to read!

“Cassandra.”

She glances over her shoulder, then straightens up and dusts herself off as I approach. “Yes?”

“We should seek out Master Dennet immediately. If I recall correctly, there’s a chance he may supply horses for the Inquisition.”

“That is correct.” She tips her head slightly. “You spoke to the revered mother?”

I nod. “She said she’ll go to Haven and provide names to Leliana of those in the Chantry who might be willing to gather and listen to what the Inquisition has to say. In the meantime, we should be trying to expand our influence, as Cullen and Josephine asked us to do. And we should be helping the refugees.” I swing onto my horse, scanning the area. “Is there someone in the area we could speak to who might be able to brief us on the situation here?”

By now, both Varric and Solas are staring at me, too. It makes me want to shrink into my armor and disappear forever, but there’s not time for that right now.

“Corporal Vale is coordinating the Inquisition’s efforts in the area,” Cassandra says, mounting up. “I believe he is just south of here.”

“Good. No time to waste,” I say, and kick my horse into a trot.

Corporal Vale gives us several leads, asking for help with food, clothing, and a healer for the refugees, as well as some information on the templar-mage war and horsemaster Dennet. It seems like Dennet’s ranch is about a half day’s ride to the west, and that if the camps of the two rebel factions could be cleaned out, it might help put a stopgap in the fighting. Apparently Redcliffe Village is closed to outsiders right now, probably because that’s where the main force of “real” rebel mages are holed up. When I ask about the difference between the real rebel mages and the ones causing havoc in most of the Hinterlands, he explains that the real ones are the group from the circle, who are keeping to themselves and taking care of their own, while the others are just apostates gone mad with power and freedom.

Vale also offers to send a few Inquisition scouts with us on our travels as backup and message runners, which we accept gladly. When wandering a war zone, it’s wise to have extra weapon-wielding hands.

After asking around a bit, we gather that the templars seem to have made camp along the river, close to a waterfall, west of the crossroads. Meanwhile, the mages have entrenched themselves in the far reaches of Witchwood.

I finish marking the map and tap the charcoal to my lips, examining the stars I’ve placed. Cassandra sits back on her heels, eyeing me.

“Lyra, are you well?”

“Hmm?”

“I mean, is everything… all right?”

Fully aware that she’s asking about my sudden confidence boost and take-charge attitude, I lift my marked hand and wiggle my fingers. “We need to get moving and find a rift, because this thing is going to pop soon and it will hurt like hell.”

She hesitates. “Very well. There is a small ridge about two hours west that would be suitable for setting up an Inquisition camp. From there we can send several scouts to seek out rifts. Once that has been dealt with, perhaps we could deal with the templar encampment on our way to Dennet’s ranch?”

“That seems to be the quickest route.” I roll up the map and tuck it into a carrying case. “Let’s go.”

We reach the ridge Cassandra mentioned in good time and set up the beginnings of a camp. One of the scouts accompanying us heads back to the Outskirts camp to get some more supplies, while the other three take off in various directions, seeking rifts. I sit on a nearby boulder, gripping my the wrist of my marked hand with my other hand. Varric is sitting cross-legged in front of a pile of wood while Cassandra rolls out some bedrolls. Solas is digging in his horse’s saddlebags, but when he notices me, he walks over and squats down.

“Is it giving you trouble?”

I have to force myself to unclench my jaw before I can speak. “It’s like… static buildup. It’s pins and needles, but growing exponentially worse. If I just had somewhere to discharge it, there wouldn’t be an issue.”

Solas chuckles. “Well, whether there’s an issue is relative. May I?”

I extend it to him. He takes my palm in his hands and turns it over once or twice, eyes distant, yet intensely focused. After a moment, he murmurs a spell under his breath, and the prickling sensation lessens somewhat.

“A simple ward,” he explains, looking back up at me. “That should hold it until we find a rift. I would suggest you attempt to discharge it right here, right now, but that could have… unforeseen and disastrous consequences.”

“Like what?”

He straightens up. “Well, at the very least, it would be a discharge of uncontrolled magical energy. Without something to focus that blast on, I fear you may injure yourself or others. You don’t have the training necessary to control it, as you are not a mage of any sort.” He gazes off into the distance, up at the short cliff behind us. “At the worst, it may actually tear a new hole in the fade, and while I’m certain we _could_ handle it, I am of the opinion that we should avoid it at all costs. Either way, the danger is too great.”

“Yeah, that’s probably wise.” I look down at my hand and flex it a few times, trying to work out some of the lingering tingles. It doesn’t help.

“The scouts will likely return soon. In the meantime, try to keep your mind off it.”

“Right.”

The ward keeps my marked hand from hurting too much until a scout returns with news of a rift about a half hour’s walk away. It’s near an old, ruined tower, and surrounded by at least a dozen shades. By the time we manage to deal with it, the sky overhead is growing dark. Once the rift is closed, Cassandra states that we’ll need to return to camp and wait until morning to continue to Dennet’s farms.

As we prepare to head back to the camp, Solas turns to Cassandra. “I’d like to spend the night at this tower. I’ll return to camp in the morning.”

She narrows her eyes, and I can see the distrust. “Why?”

“To study. If I could study the fade in the places in rifts open, it may give us some insight into where rifts are most likely to be.” He gazes up at the crumbling cobble walls. “I have some theories, but they require further testing. If you feel it is necessary, you may leave a scout or two to keep an eye on me, though I assure you, I will simply be sleeping.”

Cassandra glances at me, and I shrug.

“Very well,” she agrees, if somewhat testily, and turns to one of the scouts. “Please stay with Solas and ensure that no harm comes to him tonight. Meet us in camp at daybreak.”

The scout smacks a fist against her chest in a salute, then follows Solas into the tower. The rest of us begin the trek back to camp.

As the tower disappears behind a hill, Cassandra turns to another scout. “Return to the tower. Do not let yourself be seen. Understood?”

She salutes. “Understood, ser.”

The scout turns and runs back towards the tower where we left Solas. I watch her for a second, then glance at Cassandra.

“You don’t trust him at all, do you?”

She avoids my gaze and starts walking. “He is an apostate, neither a city elf nor Dalish. His understanding of the fade is… disconcerting. I feel there is much he is not telling us.”

“So, because he’s an elf…”

“And a mage.”

“I see.”

Varric sighs. “You ought to have a little more faith, Seeker. Solas is a good man, and he’s here to help.”

She shakes her head. “I will discuss this no further.”

Varric and I exchange a look. _Humans._

The night passes uneventfully. In the morning, as I struggle back to consciousness, I hear the scout and Cassandra discussing Solas in hushed tones. It seems that he simply slept through the night, just as he’d said he was going to.

I sit up and rub my eyes. “Shocking,” I grumble under my breath. Cassandra shoots me a glare. Fen’harel, if looks could kill.

Solas and the other scout return not ten minutes later, and we set off.

The Kings’ Road is swarmed with templars and mages duking it out. Our group hugs the cliffs that run parallel to the road, doing our best to avoid the bulk of the fighting. Getting ourselves tits deep in the thick of the war would accomplish nothing right now. We need to remove the ringleaders, and the rest will hopefully begin to dissipate.

As we approach the river, Cassandra whispers, “The templars should be camped up ahead. We must be cautious.”

“Perhaps you should let Varric and I handle this, Cassandra,” I murmur. “We could sneak in and handle it without a big fight. You and Solas can watch our backs, and make sure nobody gets in behind us.”

She hesitates. “There is strength in numbers.”

I glance at Varric. He grins.

“They won’t even know we’re there until they’re passing into the Maker’s embrace, Seeker. Let Lyra and I take care of it.”

“Very well. If you insist.”

The camp itself is set back in the canyon on an outcropping of rock about halfway up the canyon wall, nestled up against the back corner beside a waterfall that tumbles at least two hundred yards down the rocks. It’s a highly defensible position, and they’ve reinforced the area with spike walls and other hastily-constructed cover. It seems that even the rogue templars are fairly capable individuals. It makes me wonder about the rest of the templar order.

Varric and I slip past two guards and duck into some bushes with a closer vantage point. He peers through the leaves, watching the man patrolling.

“What’s the plan, Lyra?”

“The entrance is a choke point. Do you think you could get through unnoticed?”

“Absolutely.”

“I’ll drop down to the river and climb up behind the camp. They won’t be expecting anyone to approach from back there. We’ll flank and confuse them. I’m not seeing very many people up there, but don’t let your guard down.” I check to make sure I have my daggers. “Give me five minutes to scale the rocks, then go in.”

“Understood.”

I wait for the patrolling guard to turn his back, then dash over the cliff edge. The river is already quite a ways down, and I wonder if I should have told Varric ten minutes, but it’s definitely too late for that. I clamber down the rocks and head upriver, trying to keep to the small bank or rocks so I don’t alert anyone by splashing about.

The rocky wall closer to the waterfall is damp, but surprisingly rough. I nearly lose my grip once or twice. This high up, a fall would be to my death.

At last, I peer over the top of the cliffside. The area in front of me is a small path that extends out the back of the camp, and, luckily for me, has plenty of foliage cover. I drag myself up over the edge and kneel behind a tree that’s clinging to the cliff edge. If I timed it right, Varric has likely already moved on his first target.

I give myself a second to catch my breath, and the yelling starts. A grin splits my face. I can’t help but love this kind of work.

With practiced step, I dart out of cover and run for the camp, taking stock of the scene before me. There’s a fine-armored man directly ahead, beside a few tents, turned towards the front of the camp. Spike walls surround the small area on all sides except the one I’m coming from.

I yank my knife from its sheath on my thigh and leap at him. My legs latch around his waist as I bury my knife into his throat, slapping my free hand over his mouth to stifle any screams. Fortunately, my blade sank true, and he’s unable to make a sound. I launch myself off his back as he hits the ground with a muffled thud.

The spike walls grant some cover, and there’s enough confusion and yelling that it seems nobody noticed me. Of course, that means Varric is probably in danger.

I slink to a small opening in the spike walls and peer around. Varric is nowhere in sight, but it’s clear he’s killed at least two already. I count seven more. Not exactly a significant force, but ideally the ringleaders of the rogue templars are here.

Suddenly, a crossbow bolt slams into a man’s neck and he collapses. As the men try to figure out where it came from, I whip out my bow and send a shot through one of their backs.

“They’re coming from behind us!” someone yells.

“That’s impossible! There’s no way to get behind us without dropping from above!”

In their panic, they split up. Three come barreling in my direction. I remain as still as possible as they come through the gap in the spike walls and immediately notice the man lying dead on the ground. They run towards him, and I sneak up behind them.

“How could this have happened? No one has ever bested Knight-Commander Peter.”

“Someone must have gotten the drop on him.”

_And I’m about to get the drop on you, too._

I flick one of my knives and it slams into one of their necks. As he gags and falls forward, the other two rise and draw their swords, but large men in heavy armor have never been a match for my speed. Before their blades are half drawn, they hit the ground with arrows in their eyes. I step forward and ensure they’re all dead as I retrieve my weapons.

“Looks like Master Aeirlyon was right,” I mutter as I yank the arrows out of the men’s skulls. “Learning to fire two arrows at once has its uses.”

I straighten up and step back, but cold steel at my throat stops me dead.

“You know what _doesn’t_ have any uses?” a voice sneers in my ear. “A knife-ear that doesn’t know her place.”

I bite back a sarcastic retort. It’s usually best to keep one’s trap shut when a knife is at one’s neck.

“I know there’s one more of you here,” he says loudly while grabbing both my wrists in one hand and twisting until I’m forced to drop my knives. “Reveal yourself, or I kill the elf.”

Varric drops out of a tree nearby and drops to one knee, levelling Bianca at me.

“Looks like I let one get away. Sorry about that, Herald.”

“I’m sure you did your best.”

The man holding me snarls, and the knife presses harder against my throat. “Set down your crossbow or I kill the knife-ear.”

Varric puts one hand in the air and starts to lower his crossbow. “Killing the Herald of Andraste might not be a good look for you. I would think twice.”

He shifts, trying to look at my face. “The… the Herald…?”

In his moment of hesitation, Varric’s crossbow snaps back to his shoulder and a bolt slams into the man’s eye, inches from my face. He screams and attempts to slit my throat as I twist away from him, and ends up carving a nasty slash across my nose and cheek instead. I stumble backwards, clutching my face, as Varric leaps forward and slams a knife into the man’s throat.

“Sorry about that. I didn’t think he’d be able to cut you after his brain had been impaled.” He steps in front of me and gestures. “Come down here. Let me look at it.”

I drop to one knee and lift my hands off my face. My palms are covered in blood. Varric tsks softly.

“Oh, Cassandra is going to be _pissed_.”

“It was my fault. I wasn’t paying enough attention.”

He tugs a handkerchief out of a pocket and works on wiping and dabbing away the blood. “Don’t worry about it, Lyra. Mistakes happen. Besides, this will make for an incredible scar.” He pauses and sighs. “But… perhaps you shouldn’t take risks like this in the future. Remember, you are the one we must keep alive. There’s no guarantee we could use your disembodied hand to seal rifts if you die.”

I choke out a laugh. “Has… has that been a topic of discussion?”

“Leliana is very thorough.”

“Mythal, she terrifies me.”

He chuckles. “She terrifies us all.” Stepping back, he examines my face. “It’s mostly stopped bleeding. Do you think the Seeker will believe me if I tell her you tripped and fell on a rock?”

“Definitely not.”

“Andraste’s tits. Well, let’s get back. I think Solas knows some minor healing magic. Let me handle the Seeker, okay?”

“Why do you call her that?”

“What, Seeker?”

“Yeah. I’ve been wondering. You don’t refer to her by her name very often.”

He shrugs and starts walking. I follow.

“We’re not friends, the Seeker and I, but I have a great deal of respect for her. She kidnapped and interrogated me, but I admire her courage and her dedication to doing what’s right. Leaving her order and the Chantry must have been incredibly difficult.” He picks his way past a pile of bodies. “I feel her name is too familiar. Her title works just fine for now.”

“On that note, what _is_ a Seeker?”

He glances back at me with a wry grin. “You don’t know much about the Chantry at all, do you?”

“Approximately jack shit, if I’m being honest. People say things all the time and I just nod and smile. I barely even know who Andraste is.”

That draws an outright guffaw from him. “Oh, Dalish. You are in over your head.” He turns and keeps walking. “Ask me again later, when we’re camped, or back in Haven. I can help you figure out the important stuff. Though I’d actually suggest asking Cassandra about the Seekers. She’s the expert, after all.”

I smile, despite myself. “Thanks, Varric.”

“No problem.”


	5. Something Has Driven These Animals Mad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been stretched thin lately, switching jobs, running out of money, dealing with the death of my grandma. I've been considering abandoning this fic, which would suck because it's only just started - but today I noticed a comment in my inbox from three months ago that I never saw, so my vigor is renewed. I can't promise regular updates, but I'll do my best to stick with it.
> 
> I was gonna just sort of brush past this whole wolf sidequest, but then I considered how fun it might be to add some *wink wink* *nudge nudge* lines for Solas, and since this fic is me having fun, I've included this chapter. I promise we'll get out of the Hinterlands soon. I'm excited to meet some new companions.

Cassandra doesn’t chew me out too badly for getting hurt, thankfully. Solas patches my face up with a few light touches, and we leave for Redcliffe Farms. We make good time, and approach the farmland about an hour before nightfall.

The outlying fields seem strangely quiet. We keep to the road. The farther we get, the more I can’t seem to shake the feeling that we’re being watched.

“Solas…”

“Yes, I feel it as well.” He brings his horse to a halt. “There’s something out there.”

Our group shuffles to a halt, eyeing the tall grasses and various trees. After a moment, the feeling fades, and one by one, we nudge our horses onward.

The feeling doesn’t come again. We reach the inner areas of the ranch. Here, there are people dotting the fields, a stable filled with horses, and several buildings. A couple farmers are polite enough to direct us to Dennet’s home. We dismount, tie up our horses, and Cassandra knocks.

Within, I hear someone grump, “By the Maker, it’s nearly dusk. Who on earth is knocking at this hour?”

The door swings open, and a balding, dark skinned man stands in the entrance, staring at us.

“Ah,” he says. “You must be the Inquisition.”

“Yes, we are,” Cassandra replies.

“Come in.” He turns and walks back into his house. “I hear you’re trying to bring order back. It’s high time someone did.” He sits in an armchair in his front room, and Varric, Solas and I find seats. Cassandra remains standing. “Never thought it’d be a halla rider from the wildlands, though.”

I blink. “Excuse me?”

He puts his hands up. “I don’t mean to offend.” All but ignoring Cassandra’s presence, he speaks directly to me, as though I’m the one in charge. “Name’s Dennet, though I suppose you already know that. I served Arl Eamon for thirty years as horsemaster. I hear your Inquisition is looking for mounts.”

“It is,” I confirm. “Can you help us?”

“Not at the moment.” He shakes his head. “It’s not as simple as you’d like. I can’t just send a hundred of the finest horses in Ferelden down the road like you’d send a letter. Every bandit between here and Haven would be on them like flies on crap. You’ll have mounts once I know they won’t end up as a cold winter’s breakfast.”

“That sounds more than reasonable.”

“Glad to hear it. My wife Elaina manages the farms, and Bron’s in charge of my guards. They’ll tell you what they need. Until then, _you_ deserve something better than whatever knock-kneed plow nag they gave you, and I suppose I can offer your friends mounts, too.” His eyes flash over Cassandra, Varric, and Solas. “There’s a chestnut down by the stable – a purebred Fereldan Forder. Take care of her, and she’ll take care of you, Inquisition. Ask my daughter, Seanna, to help get you outfitted.” He stands up. “If there’s nothing else?”

“I don’t believe so. Thank you for your help, Dennet.”

We leave the house and manage to find Elaina and Bron without much trouble. Bron asks us to build watchtowers, and Elaina requests that we deal with a pack of unusually aggressive wolves that have been prowling the farmlands. Seanna helps me get set up with the purebred mare, whose name is Maple Syrup.

We send two of our scouts to mark locations for watchtowers, and tell them to report back to the camp on the outskirts and send a raven requesting manpower to build them. Once they’re off, the rest of us sit around the fire as dusk falls to discuss the wolf problem.

“She said they were unusually feral,” I say, almost to myself. “Like they’re possessed. But that doesn’t tell us anything about where to find them.”

“Indeed,” Solas agrees. “We haven’t encountered them at all.”

“We should count ourselves lucky for that,” Cassandra says. “At least now we are prepared.”

I rip off a bite of bread, gazing into the distance, running my thumb over the smooth worry stone on my bracelet. “We’ll have to track them down tomorrow. Perhaps we can ask around. See if anybody’s noticed whether they come from somewhere.”

“For now, we should rest up,” Varric says with a yawn. “Sounds like a big day tomorrow.”

As we finish packing away dinner and begin to turn in for the night, the strange feeling from earlier today returns. I stiffen and look up at the others. It’s clear they can feel it too – Solas is already standing, staff ready, and Cassandra is poised to draw her sword.

A terrible howl rends the night.

Solas whips around towards the darkness, a beam of light flashing from his hand. It throws into sharp relief a massive black wolf with sickly green eyes, not three paces away from him. He leaps backwards as Cassandra lunges past him, sword dropping faster than a guillotine. As her blade strikes true, another wolf appears out of the darkness, heading for Varric. I put an arrow through its eye. Varric leaps up and runs past me, bringing his folded crossbow down on what I assume is another wolf’s head.

For a moment, we stand frozen, watching, breathing.

“I don’t think we’re going to get any rest with those things out there,” I say at last.

“I agree.” Cassandra sheaths her blade and leans down to examine the wolf.

“We still don’t know where they’re coming from,” Varric points out. “Are we supposed to sit awake all night?”

“The fur is damp.” Cassandra straightens up. “They must have come from the river.”

“Yes, but where?”

She considers this. “There is a waterfall to the south, so it’s unlikely the beasts came from that direction. To the east is a canyon path into the Witchwood, and north… I am uncertain.”

“They couldn’t have come from Witchwood,” I mutter.

“I doubt the rebel mages would be set up there if these wolves were wandering about,” Solas agrees. “That leaves only north.”

Varric sighs. “I guess it’s worth a shot.”

“Is it far, Cassandra?” I ask. “Should we bother taking the horses?”

“No,” she says, gathering her shield and other various things. “We should let them rest. It won’t be long on foot.”

I tip my head, eyeing her with amusement. “Is this like when you told me the Breach was ‘not far’ and then we ran three miles through the snow?”

She shakes her head, frustrated, but I can see a hint of a smile on her face. “I promise you, it is not far.”

“Three miles isn’t that bad!” Varric teases me. “Just wait until she drags you across a continent.”

Cassandra’s smile fades. “Varric.”

I laugh. “Come on, let’s get moving. We’re wasting sleep hours.”

It only takes us about a half hour of careful walking to make it down to the river. Unfortunately, as we reach the water, I feel the magic of a rift. Upriver, to the south, directly below the waterfall, a green anomaly shudders and crackles in midair.

A groan escapes me. “We should… probably go take care of that,” I say, pointing. It’s probably a quarter mile away, in the wrong direction.

Solas glances back at it. “Yes. We should.”

“Immediately,” Cassandra agrees. “Let’s go.”

“Maybe we’ll get lucky,” Varric grumbles, “and all the demons will be asleep.”

The demons are not asleep.

By the time we’ve cleared the area enough for me to try and close the rift, Solas is unconscious and slung over Cassandra’s shoulder, and a gash on Varric’s thigh is dyeing the water around our legs red. My heart jumps in my chest as I put my palm up towards the rift, praying that it still works. It hasn’t failed me yet, but I’m nervous every time.

It works, of course.

We limp to shore, revive Solas, bandage Varric, and keep moving. Every so often, Solas mutters a healing spell, working to get himself and Varric into fighting condition. Healing isn’t Solas’ specialty – he’s more of a scholar, from what I can tell. But he knows enough to keep us moving while we’re in the field, and I suppose that’s what matters.

After wandering down the river for about forty-five minutes, exploring every nook and cranny with torches, we discover a clearing surrounded by hexagonal rock formations, with a cave in the southeast corner.

“That cave could be the lair,” Cassandra murmurs.

“Be careful. We have no idea how many there are, or what’s causing the madness,” I reply. “Come on.”

We slip into the cave as stealthily as we can, considering the noise Cassandra’s armor makes with her every footstep. The rocks twist around and let us out into a grassy area, open to the sky, with huge rock formations and about a dozen wolves. Cassandra lunges in. The rest of us back her up.

As she cleaves her way around one of the rock formations, a demon comes into sight – a tall, green, gangly thing that teleports in through the ground and contorts in ways no creature should.

“The demon likely has command of the pack!” Solas shouts. “Try to take it out first!”

“There’s a lot of wolves to deal with right now, Solas!” I scream back.

“If you take out the demon, the wolves may be easier to deal with!”

One of the wolves tackles me, and I just manage to slam two daggers into its chest before it latches its slavering jaws around my face. “Well then why don’t YOU take the demon out, Mr. Magic Man, seeing as how the rest of us are a little busy!” I yell, heaving the carcass off my body. Gods, these things probably have rabies and worms and all manner of nasty things.

Solas is still yelling at me. “I’d be happy to take the demon out, Lyra, but I’m busy trying to keep Cassandra alive!”

Sassy son of a bitch.

By the time we clear the wolves and take down the demon, all the walking and fighting has put us well past midnight. I slump onto a rock with a groan as Solas mutters a spell over a wound on my shoulder. Cassandra crouches to clean her blade.

“With the demon dead, the farmers should be safe from the wolves,” she says.

“And the wolves are likely pleased to be free from the demon’s control,” Solas says.

I give him a look. “Solas. We killed them. We killed the wolves. There’s… there’s no wolves _left_ to _be_ happy.”

He meets my eyes, then looks away. “There are a few out there.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” I grunt, standing up. “In the meantime, I would like to get some sleep tonight, so let’s head back. We’ve got a long week ahead of us.”

“Week?” Solas asks.

I head for the entrance of the cave. “If you think we’re just going to sit on our asses until the watchtowers are built, think again. There are refugees to be helped, rifts to be closed, and a camp full of rebel mages to be dealt with.”

“I suppose we must stay, then.”

“What did you have in mind, Solas?”

“We have Mother Giselle backing us. We have the promise of horses once the watchtowers are built, and the watchtowers are in progress. I thought it might be wise to travel to Val-Royeaux now, to speak with the Chantry mothers.”

I glance at him, a little baffled. “What of the rifts here?”

“What of obtaining help to close the Breach?” he shoots back.

Cassandra cuts in. “I believe we should stay a while longer. We must gain allies and prove that the Inquisition can be trusted.”

“Not to agree with the Seeker,” Varric says, “but the people here need our help. The Breach is stable for now, right? There’s no reason we shouldn’t spend some time here.”

“It seems I am outvoted,” Solas says. “Let us return to camp and rest, then. We’ll need it.”

Decided, but decidedly grumpy, we begin tramping back to camp. As we approach the fire, a low growl comes from the other side of it.

Cassandra’s sword is out before I can blink. My hand flies to my bow, and Varric’s to Bianca, but Solas puts up a hand.

He walks forward towards the embers of the fire, and a wolf with ash grey fur steps into the light. Cassandra tenses, but Solas is calm, and I extend a hand to stop her from lunging forward.

Solas puts out a hand. After a tense second, the wolf presses its forehead into Solas’ palm.

Without turning, Solas says, “See?”


	6. It Occurs To Me That I Don't Actually Know Much About You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyra tries to make friends. Only the gods know if it'll take.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got stuck in a rut recently, because I'm frustrated with how much... just, like, talking there is. A lot of it can be cut, of course, but some of it is interesting and important - like Solas not liking the Dalish. That's important, and I had to figure out how to wedge another entire conversation into this chapter. Solas talks so much.
> 
> Redcliffe Castle is approaching, though, and soon we'll be out of the Introductions And Tutorials phase, and I can switch gears into just writing story and inner circle quests. The whole thing should flow better after I've made it to Skyhold.

The next morning, we let Elaina know that the wolves are dealt with. Then we head out, and from there it feels like we don’t stop for ages – we clean out the rebel mage camp, we discover a cult camped in the hills, we close rifts and hunt down rams and steal caches of supplies from the mages to distribute among the refugees.

Three nights later, we find ourselves sitting around the campfire as night falls, eating dinner in awkward silence. It’s strange, honestly, that we’ve been travelling together for nearly two weeks, but we’re barely friends. Admittedly, there are certain tensions that make it difficult to get along, but still. We haven’t even made that much of an effort.

As if sensing my thoughts, Cassandra looks up at me. “You know, Lyra, it occurs to me that I don’t actually know much about you.”

“What do you want to know?”

“I’m… not sure. Where are you from?”

I raise an eyebrow. “I thought you knew that.”

She stirs her soup. “I suppose I could just ask Leliana when we get back to Haven. She has collected a frightening amount of information on you. But I don’t want to ask her. I’d rather hear it from you.”

“Hmm.” I watch her with warm eyes. “Well, I’m Dalish, so my nomadic lifestyle doesn’t afford me the luxury of being _from_ somewhere. We primarily roamed the Free Marches, though, so I suppose I could claim that as home.”

“Oh? I didn’t think any Dalish lived that far north, but clearly I’m mistaken.” She meets my eyes over the fire. “Leliana mentioned that you were the only representative from your clan at the Conclave, and that the Lavellans are still out there. Do you intend to go back?”

A deep sigh escapes me. “I love my clan deeply. If I’m being honest, I’d go back now, if I could. But it seems my destiny draws me ever away from them.” I press a thumb to my marked palm, gaze drifting into the distance. “The Inquisition needs me, so it will be my home for now. But perhaps someday I’ll return, if I’m able.”

“I hope you can.”

“Thank you.” I look back up at her. “Tell me about yourself. I’d like to get to know you better.”

She narrows her eyes. “You would?”

I tip my head, almost laughing at her. “Is that a problem?”

“Not entirely. I’m just curious as to your motivation.”

“Oh, come on, Cassandra. I told you about myself, didn’t I? I’ve no motivation beyond making things between us less… ah…”

“Antagonistic?”

“Exactly. We’ve been travelling together for almost two weeks. The awkward silences are exhausting.”

Varric snorts. “You can say that again.”

Cassandra sighs. “As you wish. My name is Cassandra Pentaghast, daughter of the royal house of Nevarra, seventy-eighth in line for the Nevarran throne. I joined the Seekers of Truth as a young woman, and was with the Order until they withdrew from the Chantry. I remained as the Divine’s Right Hand, carrying out her order to form the Inquistion – and here we are. That is all there is to know.”

I blink in shock. “Okay so… whoa. Okay. We don’t have time to unpack all of that, but did you say that you’re Nevarran royalty?”

She doesn’t make eye contact. “The Pentaghasts are a very large clan. Half of Cumberland could say the same.”

“Really?”

“No, but it feels that way.” There’s an edge to her voice. “I have hundreds of relatives so distant, they need charts to prove we’re related at all. And they have them, oh, yes. The Pentaghasts value their precious blood like it runs with gold.”

“So, uh, you’re not on great terms with your family, huh?”

“I do not visit, if that’s what you mean.” She sits back and gazes at the stars overhead. “The Pentaghasts are famed for dragon-hunting, but few actually pursue the craft. Most are fat and lazy. They pay lip service to the Maker and care only for idle pleasures and past glories. My brother was all that kept me in Nevarra. Once he was gone, so was I.”

“Your brother?”

She’s quiet for a second. “I… would prefer not to speak of Anthony. Another time, perhaps.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. Would you tell me about Nevarra instead? I’ve never been. You don’t seem to like it much.”

“My family polluted it for me.”

She’s still watching the sky. Solas and Varric listen quietly, while I watch her, drawn in by the uncharacteristic vulnerability she’s showing.

“What little I saw of my homeland was through the bars of a gilded cage. My uncle treated me like a porcelain doll to be placed on a shelf and dusted only when necessary. Thus I did not see Nevarra, the _real_ Nevarra, until much later.” Her eyes flutter closed. “By then, I realized I knew it not at all.”

“Your uncle? What about your parents?”

“They had the misfortune of taking the wrong side in the second attempt to overthrow King Markus,” she says. Her voice is flat. “The king executed them, but spared my brother and I since we were family, and children at the time. Thus we were raised by my uncle, a Mortalitasi who preferred the company of his corpses to the living.” Her voice regains some bite when she says this.

“Mortalitasi?”

“A death mage. My countrymen do not burn the dead; they bury them in special crypts. The Mortalitasi supervise the crypts, like priests. Uncle Vestalus oversees the Grand Necropolis. Nevarrans spend more time honoring dead relatives than they do with living ones.” Her voice is hard. She pauses, and when she speaks again, she affects a more nonchalant tone. “It is odd to be so fascinated with death and its trappings. I will never understand it.”

“There’s something we have in common, then,” I chuckle. “The Mortalitasi sound bizarre.”

She cracks an eye open to give me a wry half-smile. “It is somewhere to start, I suppose.”

“Will you tell me about being Right Hand of the Divine?”

“Why don’t you ask Varric or Solas about themselves? I am sure they feel very left out of this interrogation.”

I blush bright red from the tip of my nose to the sharp ends of my ears. “Sorry, it’s just that you’re, um, so delightful.”

She narrows her eyes. “I object. There’s nothing delightful about me.”

I rub a hand across my face, trying to hide the blush. Gods, shit, she’s so gorgeous, with her hair braided up and the firelight flickering on her face. “I, uh. Beg to differ.”

An exasperated laugh escapes her. “I think I preferred you in the stocks.”

Solas stands up abruptly as Varric bursts into laughter. “I think I’ll leave you all to the campfire,” he says. “I’m going to go find somewhere to dream.”

I flash him a look of desperation, but he just shakes his head, laughing at me with his eyes, and walks away.

“Don’t worry, Lyra, I won’t abandon you,” Varric says.

Cassandra stands up. “I think Solas has the right idea. I’m going to bed.”

“Right. Okay. Have a nice sleep,” I say.

She raises an eyebrow at me, then turns and walks to the tent. I drop my face into my hands.

“Have a nice sleep?” I mutter to myself. “What is _wrong_ with me?”

“For a rogue, you’re not terribly subtle, you know that?”

I look up at Varric. “I can’t help it! She’s so beautiful!”

He just laughs again. “Not my type. Too tall.”

I shake my head. “This is stupid. I don’t know what came over me. Just… listening to her talk…” I sigh. “Plus it’s weird because I was technically imprisoned by her for like, a week.”

“Don’t worry about it. But do be careful. Interacting with Cassandra can be a real balancing act.” He grins. “I might advise picking a different target.”

“I guess Solas is pretty good looking. He’d be better with some hair, though. His head looks like an egg.”

From just outside the circle of firelight, Solas says, “I can _hear_ you, Lyra.”

The blush returns in full force. Varric loses it.

“I think I should go to sleep before I embarrass myself again,” I say, standing up.

“Could be wise,” Varric agrees, wiping a tear out of the corner of his eye. “If it happens again, I might laugh myself to death.”

I stick my tongue out at him and retire to my tent.

I spend at least an hour tossing and turning. I can’t think about anything but the way the firelight threw shadows across her neck, still slick with sweat from the day’s battles. Her perfect jaw, and her lips, forming the words and stories of her life. The way she tensed up, frustrated and traumatized, but quickly forced herself to relax. The strength of her personality, the power she exudes in every movement, the way she grins and even _laughs_ after battles.

And, of course, the thought of her killing a dragon.

A soft moan escapes me, and I bury my face in my pillow, feeling the blush creep back across my nose.

I have to get ahold of myself. Our relationship is purely professional – an alliance. I need to focus on closing the Breach and saving the world, not chasing after a woman who probably doesn’t even reciprocate.

Honestly, I’m probably not even that into her – I’m just touch-starved. In a sexual way and in a general way. Now that I’m almost entirely over the fear that they’re going to decide I actually _did_ kill the Divine and have me executed on the spot, I’m struggling with the fact that nobody here actually _cares_ about me. I’m just some holy symbol, or a way to seal rifts, or ‘the last great hope for Thedas.’ Nobody gives a damn that I’m also a person.

Finally, I manage to fall into a fitful sleep.

Much to my relief, my flirtatious blunders are not mentioned the next morning as we prepare to head out. Just before we’re ready to go, Solas approaches me.

“Lyra. A moment?”

“Yeah? What is it?”

“As I dreamt last night, I felt the presence of an intriguing artifact nearby. If you are willing, I would like to locate it. I have marked its location as best I could determine on our map.”

I shoulder a bag. “Sure, I’m happy to help. But technically Cassandra is still in charge of where we go.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Is she?”

“I _did_ say ‘technically.’ I’ll see what I can do. You know anything about this artifact?”

“It seems to be of elven origin, and it’s connected to the Fade. Other than that, I am not sure. I appreciate your willingness to help.”

“Yeah, of course.” I hesitate. “Solas, I’d like to know more about you.”

He narrows his eyes. “Why?”

“You’re risking your freedom to help the Inquisition. Humans don’t look kindly on mages who aren’t trained in the Circle.”

“Apostates.”

“I don’t like the word. It’s so… Chantry-oriented.” I fold my arms, watching him. “I respect that you’re here, helping us. I’m just curious about who you are and where you came from.”

“Is what you’ve seen and learned of me during our travels insufficient?”

“Everybody has a past. Who you were yesterday has a pretty big impact on who you are today, doesn’t it?”

He shakes his head. “I am sorry. I’m too suspicious. With so much fear in the air…” He sighs. “We can talk as we ride. I think Cassandra wants to be going.”

“Right. Okay.”

We swing onto our horses and head north, towards the Crossroads. There’s a rumor of unusually organized bandits to the northeast, and that’s where we’re headed. On the way, we plan to stop in the Crossroads and drop off the meat and supplies we’ve been collecting for the refugees.

Solas nudges his horse up beside mine, falling into stride.

“So, Lyra. What would you know of me?”

“Hmm.” I gaze over the fields. “Actually, I’m interested in hearing your opinions on elven culture.”

He makes a face. “I thought you would be more interested in sharing _your_ opinions of elven culture. You are Dalish, are you not?”

I pause at the hostility in his voice. “I mean, yes. That’s pretty well established. I don’t understand your disdain, Solas. My people come from the elves who refused to surrender when humans broke their treaty and destroyed the Dales.”

“Your Keeper was not wrong about that, at least. We ought to mark the occasion of the Dalish remembering something correctly. Perhaps we should plant a tree.”

I yank my horse to a halt. “I don’t know where your head has been buried for the last thousand years, Solas, but my people – _our_ people – had our entire civilization, our history, our very _identity_ stolen and broken and crushed. We’ve been enslaved over and over, forced into poverty, and made to wander the lands, homeless.”

The others bring their horses to a halt, wheeling to look at me.

“If we don’t remember something correctly, it’s because we _can’t._ It’s because our history and our culture has been taken from us, over and over again. We don’t have the luxury of written records because our cities were destroyed. All we have is the desperate whispered words of our elders, who suffered and struggled to keep what they knew of our history alive.”

Cassandra and Varric stare in shock, and Solas’ face morphs from annoyance to surprise.

“I asked you for your opinion on elven culture because I’m curious about where you stand, as one who is not Dalish, and I’m curious about what you know, as one who explores memories in the fade. Trapped as I am, a Herald in the religion of my oppressors and outnumbered by the humans around me, I will _not_ tolerate insult to my people.”

Solas is quiet for a moment, and then he dips his head slightly in acknowledgment. “I am sorry. You are right, of course. The fault is mine, for expecting what the Dalish could never truly hope to accomplish.” He hesitates, then says, “Ir abelas… da’len. If I can offer any understanding, you have but to ask.”

I nudge my horse back into a walk, and we return to our travel.

“You explore the memories of the fade,” I say, trotting beside Solas. “Tell me, then, the truth of the history which the Dalish attempt to imitate.”

“Ah,” he sighs, and a wistful look crosses his face. “The Dalish strive to remember Halamshiral, but Halamshiral was merely a fumbling attempt to recreate a forgotten land.”

“Arlathan,” I murmur.

He nods. “Elvhenan was the empire, and Arlathan its greatest city. A place of magic and beauty, lost to time. We hear stories of them living in trees and imagine wooden ramps or Dalish aravels. Imagine instead spires of crystal twining through the branches, palaces floating among the clouds. Imagine beings who lived forever, for whom magic was as natural as breathing. That is what was lost.”

“The legends of elven immortality… did they use magic to lengthen their lifespan?”

“No. It was simply part of being elven. The subtle beauty of their magic was the effect, not the cause, of their nature. Some spells took years to cast. Echoes would linger for centuries, harmonizing with new magic in an unending symphony.”

I gaze off into the trees. “The world must have been different then, for magic to work that way,” I murmur. “To be as natural as breathing… I can’t imagine it.”

“It was incredible.”

“You say it as though you were there,” I tease, side-eyeing him.

He opens his mouth, then closes it. “The fade can feel very real sometimes.”

“I suppose it must. Speaking of the fade - you told me that you travel to explore more of the fade. Have you always traveled and studied alone?”

“Not at all. I have built many lasting friendships: spirits of wisdom, possessed of ancient knowledge, happy to share what they had seen. Spirits of purpose helped me search. Even wisps, curious and playful, would point out treasures I might have missed.”

“Wisdom and purpose?”

“They rarely seek this world. When they do, their natures do not often survive exposure to the people they encounter. Wisdom and purpose are too easily twisted into pride and desire.”

“Demons.”

He glances at me. “Yes. But they were not demons for me.”

“How?”

“The Fade reflects the minds of the living. If you expect a spirit of wisdom to be a pride demon, it will adapt. But if your mind is free of corrupting influences? If you understand the nature of the spirit? They can be fast friends.”

_Pretentious._

“That’s fascinating. I had no idea you could become friends with spirits.”

“Anyone who can dream has the potential. Few ever try. My friends comforted me in grief and shared my joy. Yet, because they exist without form as humankind understands it, the Chantry declares that spirits are not truly people.” He frowns. “Is Cassandra defined by her cheekbones and not her faith? Varric by his chest hair and not his wit?” He glances at me out of the corners of his eye and slyly adds, “Me by my egg head and not my knowledge of magic?”

I flush bright red and look away. “I hadn’t thought about it like that. It’s never occurred to me that spirits might have… you know, personality and free will. Somehow I’ve never considered that they might be individuals, rather than just reflections in the fade.”

“We are all reflections of other people’s opinions of us, aren’t we? Spirits may have less power to self-determine, but they are people nonetheless.”

“Interesting. I see your point.”

“I…” he pauses, staring at me. “Thank you. Few are willing to entertain such a notion.”

“I like to think of myself as an open-minded person,” I reply with a smile. “Sorry I said your head looks like an egg.”

He laughs and rubs a hand over his scalp. “No harm done. Though I am now considering growing some hair.”

“You can always shave it off again if you don’t like it,” I point out.

“True enough,” he says, still chuckling at me.


	7. Back to Haven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyra, Solas, and Cassandra finish up in the Hinterlands and head home. Lyra asks Cassandra about the Seekers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OwO what's this? Another chapter, so soon? Well, yes. And I already have a couple more written up that I'll be posting in the next couple months.
> 
> When I said that Redcliffe Castle is coming up, I meant in like... six or seven more chapters. But to be fair, these chapters are pretty short, so it'll be soon-ish. Promise.

All told, a week and a half after we arrived in the Hinterlands, the mage-templar fighting has died off almost completely and the watchtowers for Dennet’s farm are built. The refugees are still struggling, but with the fighting calmed down and many rifts closed, they’re able to mostly fend for and defend themselves. We also found the strange artifact Solas had mentioned – a little device, attuned to the fade, designed to help stabilize it. Redcliffe village is still completely shut off from outsiders – no matter what Cassandra, Solas, Varric, and I tried, we couldn’t convince them to let us in.

Before we leave for Haven and, ultimately, Val Royeaux, we stop in at Dennet’s ranch one last time. When we arrive, the stables are bustling with stable hands and guards preparing the horses for travel. I knock at Dennet’s door.

He welcomes me in with a grin.

“Welcome back! Its good to see you. I wanted to thank you for helping with the wolves and the watchtowers.” He pours two glasses of alcohol out of an old bottle. “You’ve held up your end of our bargain, Inquisition,” he says, offering me the glass. I accept. “You’ll have my whole stable, and good hands to go with it.”

I swirl the glass thoughtfully. “What about you?”

He takes a drink. “Well, you’ve cleaned up the area, and I can’t say I’m not tempted. Still… it feels wrong to abandon my land to go play horsemaster again.”

“It’s hardly play if you’re helping change the world, is it?” I point out, and take a sip of the drink. “When it comes to the Breach, everybody has a role. If you feel you’ve fulfilled yours, I can hardly convince you to come. But we’d appreciate having your expertise on hand.”

He considers this carefully. “Changing the world, are we?”

“After we save it, of course.”

“Right, of course.”

“If it helps, the Inquisition is developing broad connections. We could get you steeds from all over the world. Help you perfect a new breed of horse.”

A chuckle escapes him. “You don’t say?”

I just grin and shrug.

“All right, Inquisition. I’ll look to the horses myself. Never let it be said that Redcliffe gave less than the best. Just let me settle matters here and say goodbye to my wife and Seanna. I’ll meet you at Haven.”

“Thank you, Dennet. We’ll be glad to have you.” I throw back the rest of the drink. “God, this stuff is terrible. What is it?”

“Carnal, 8:69 Blessed.” He laughs at the look on my face. “It’s got a peach pit in the bottle with a dick carved on it. It was a gift from a friend who travelled to Orlais.”

I wince on the aftertaste and set the glass down on the table. “That’s really. Really weird.”

“Those Orlesians and their strange tastes, right?” He tosses his back.

“Thanks for the drink. I’ll see you soon.”

He nods. “Watch your back, Inquisition.”

“Always do.”

I walk back out and rejoin my companions near the stables.

“Did he agree to come?” Varric asks.

“Yup. He said he’ll meet us back in Haven.” I swing onto Maple Syrup. “Let’s get moving. We have to get back to Haven first, and after that it’s a week’s ride to Val Royeaux. I think we’ve left the Breach waiting long enough.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Solas says.

We set off through the Hinterlands and reach the Inquisition camp on the outskirts in record time. After resting there for the night, we start the trip back through the mountains to Haven.

My determination to get to know my companions better has only grown since the night I asked Cassandra about herself. I spend hours questioning Solas about the fade, asking him about memories he’s seen and places he’s been. I interrogate Varric about his crossbow and listen with mild incredulity as he lies to me about where he found it, I learn about his family’s work, and ask him about the red lyrium we’d seen in the ruined Temple of Sacred Ashes – learning with some shock that he and his brother are the ones who found it and brought it back to the surface. I manage to tear the story of how Cassandra became the Right Hand of the Divine out of her, and learn quite a bit about the Chantry in the process. I slowly come to understand the vision behind the Inquisition – it was in the making long before the Breach, not a reaction to it. Cassandra explains that sometimes a bone has to be broken in order to be reset, and that the Inquisition is meant to preserve as well as be an agent for change.

As we come over the hills above Haven, I finally get around to asking her about the Seekers.

She brings her horse to a stop, gazing over the valley where Haven is nestled, and sighs. “The Seekers of Truth were born from the original Inquisition long ago, when it was united with the Chantry. You would do well to learn about the original Inquisition – perhaps if Mother Giselle is in Haven, she would know.” She pauses, gathering her words. “Seekers stood above the templars – watching over them, but also investigating magical events they couldn’t handle. We were meant to be incorruptible. Above reproach.” She shakes her head. “How seldom does reality match the ideal.”

“Seems like a pretty difficult ideal to match.” I nudge Maple Syrup into a walk, and Cassandra follows. “Feels like they set themselves up for failure with that one.”

“Sometimes it does feel that way. It seems that wherever there is man, there is corruption.”

“Mm. Yeah.” I tip my head, watching her. “But… what _are_ Seekers?”

“Those who know anything of us think we are templars. We do not use lyrium, however. Our abilities are different, as was our original purpose. We disciplined the templars and were accountable only to the Divine – and not even her, truthfully.”

“So nobody ever watched over the Seekers?”

“It was the Divine’s duty, but she could only do so much when the truth was hidden from her. The templars have always feared us. When a Seeker arrived at a Circle, they knew trouble was afoot. That kind of power is troubling. You begin to think you are the only one who can solve the world’s problems. If you don’t see a problem, it doesn’t exist. If someone insists it does, they are the blind ones.”

“Do you think that kind of problem could ever be fixed?”

“You said it yourself – it is a difficult ideal to match. The Seekers themselves would need to change. They were clearly not willing to – they abandoned everything they stood for to avoid it. In my heart, I believe they can still be salvaged. But not by their own hands.”

We come off the hills into a lightly wooded area, circling around the frozen lake in front of Haven. Rams and wild druffalo roam the snow-covered area.

“Why did your order turn against the Chantry?”

“We originally united with the Chantry through a treaty that stated they would keep mages under control. It was felt Most Holy had tacitly allowed the Circle of Magi to vote on its independence, thus breaking the treaty. The Seekers saw themselves as justified, and they led the templars into a war of righteousness.”

“You clearly disagreed.”

She lets out a pained breath. “We _knew_ what was happening at Kirkwall, where the mage rebellion began.”

_What the hell is Kirkwall?_

“We looked into reports of Knight-Commander Meredith’s harsh treatment of her charges years earlier,” she continues, oblivious to the fact that I don’t know what she’s talking about _at all_. “But we found so many cases of magical corruption, it was decided her actions were justified. If we’d been there when it happened, if we’d looked harder at the root causes…” she trails off, frustrated.

I blink, and, unable to formulate an informed reply, I simply say, “You seem to care a great deal about it.”

“Too much, if you ask the rest of my Order.” She snorts. “When faced with a problem, the Seekers would close ranks and crush it. We would find an answer, but only once we felt we weren’t being coerced. The moment the mages voted for independence, our response was predictable. It was… difficult to watch.”

“I’m sorry, Cassandra.”

She just shakes her head.

“If you don’t mind my asking – how does someone become a Seeker? If they were meant to be incorruptible, the vetting process must have been something else.”

“I do not mind. I’m happy to explain to a listening ear.” She gives me a small smile. “Most Seekers begin training in their youth. I was much older: an exception due to my noble birth. We train rigorously for years. Our bodies and minds must be elastic to undergo the vigil, and most fail even then.”

“The vigil?”

“The rite every Seeker must go through in order to summon their gifts: a full year of fasting, prayer, and separation from all distractions – including other people. We empty ourselves of all emotion, focusing only on the purity of our devotion. And the moment it finally ends…” her eyes flutter closed. “It’s wonderful. Faith realized. I cannot put it into words.”

“That sounds incredible. I wish I could experience that.”

She glances at me. “You don’t believe in the Maker.”

“No, but I am deeply devoted to my own gods. The thought of experiencing that pure sensation of faith sounds wonderful.”

“If the vigil was not so arduous, I’d say more should attempt it. What if mages never needed to fear possession by demons?” she says. “I’m told it is impossible, however. I suppose I’ll never know the truth of it now.”

“Is it not possible for Seekers to become possessed? I mean, you mentioned that Seekers have different abilities than templars.”

“Entirely. A templar’s abilities come from lyrium, and are designed to hunt mages. Ours come from ritual and many years of dedicated training. We cannot be possessed by demons and are immune to mind control. Useful, considering our role. Seekers can gain other gifts, though that depends on the individual.”

“What are your gifts?”

“I can set the lyrium within a person’s blood aflame. Both mages and templars bend before my will. It is not an uncommon gift – some Seekers use it to interrogate, others simply to paralyze. Once there was a Seeker who could use it to kill. That particular gift is rare.”

“That’s… probably a good thing.”

“Yes, probably.”

At long last, we come out of the trees just outside of Haven. The training grounds are to our right, filled with shouts and the clatter of metal on metal. We drop our horses off at the stable by the smithy and enter the city. Solas and Varric leave us there, heading off to tend to their own matters.

People notice us as we walk, pointing and muttering. Cassandra catches a young boy by the scruff of his shirt and tells him to find Cullen and send him to the war room.

“Are we not sending for Leliana?” I ask as he runs off.

Cassandra shakes her head. “I promise you that Leliana already knows we are here.”

Indeed, when we walk into the war room, Leliana and Josephine are waiting, sitting on the table and talking in low tones. When we enter, Leliana looks up at Cassandra.

“I’m glad you’re back,” she says. “It seems you accomplished quite a lot in the Hinterlands. News of the Herald and the Inquisition’s good works is spreading like wildfire. And Master Dennet and his horses will be invaluable, of course.”

Cassandra dips her head in acknowledgment. “Lyra has proven herself most effective.”

“Flattered,” I mumble.

Cullen arrives at that moment, slamming the war room door behind him, hair ruffled. “You haven’t started without me, have you?”

“Of course not,” Leliana says. “Come. Let’s talk.”

They take their places behind the table, already discussing Mother Giselle’s information and the various options. Finally, Josephine says, “Having Lyra – the Herald – address the clerics is not a terrible idea.”

Cullen looks at her, aghast. “You can’t be serious.”

“I said not terrible. It’s still bad. But Mother Giselle isn’t wrong – at the moment, the Chantry’s only strength is that they are united in opinion.”

Cullen shakes his head and turns away from her, frustrated. Leliana tucks her hands behind her back and says, “And we should ignore the danger to Lyra?”

“Let’s ask her,” Josephine says, looking at me.

“So glad you’ve decided to include me,” I joke. “Honestly? What can they do? It’s just talk.”

“Don’t underestimate the power of their words,” Leliana warns. “An angry mob will do you in just as quickly as a blade.”

Cassandra steps in. “I will go with her,” she says, her tone final. “Mother Giselle said she could provide us with names? Use them.”

“But why?” Leliana says, annoyed. “This is nothing but a –”

“What choice do we have, Leliana?” Cassandra cuts her off. “Right now, we can’t approach anyone for help with the Breach. The mages have completely closed off Redcliffe, and we don’t even _know_ what the templars are doing. Use what influence we have to call the clerics together. Once they are ready, we will see this through.”

Cullen and Josephine exchange looks, and one by one, they and Leliana seem to silently agree. Josephine looks up at me. “We’ll send word to Val Royeaux. You should rest here tonight. It will not be easy to convince the clerics that the Herald of Andraste is not the monster they believe.”


	8. A Brief Respite in Haven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyra chats with Josephine about rumors, with Mother Giselle about Andraste, with Cassandra about the future, with Cullen about the Inquisition, and with Leliana about the unfairness of life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't have much in the way of notes today.
> 
> Mother Giselle is pretty damn wise.

With the war table meeting over, I start to make my way out of the Chantry, only to hear Josephine calling after me.

“Mistress Lavellan!”

I turn around.

“Do you have a moment?” she asks, approaching me.

“Sure. What do you need?”

“Well… I don’t _need_ something, precisely, but… I should like to know if anyone here has treated you unkindly, Lyra.” She hesitates, shifting from one foot to the other. “For being an elf.”

“Ah.”

She tucks her notepad against her hip, watching my face. Waiting.

“Not particularly. Some whispers and sideways looks. Nothing I can’t handle.”

She tsks. “I shall speak with the staff regarding such conduct. If we’re to convince the world that Andraste’s Herald is an elf, the Inquisition must give you its utmost support.”

“So, are you officially spreading that I’m Andraste’s Herald, then?”

She opens her mouth, then closes it again. “Well, not officially, no. There is still some… discussion on the matter. And your own preferences, of course.”

“I see.” I mindlessly rub a thumb into my marked palm. “If you’re just asking about my well-being in order to preserve the reputation of the Inquisition and my status as the Herald, I’d prefer you didn’t ask.”

For a moment, she’s struck dumb again. I wait.

“I’m… sorry,” she finally says, “if it came across that way. As the Inquisition’s diplomat, my thoughts can often be stuck in a rut regarding the Inquisition’s reputation. I also don’t know you very well yet, and I thought it might be strange to ask such a… personal question. To be honest, I am concerned about your well-being. Stories of ‘wild Dalish elves’ have grown even more outrageous as people learn of you.”

I narrow my eyes. “How have the rumors gotten worse?”

She winces. “I would prefer not to repeat them.”

“Please.”

A sigh. “Stealing children, selling peasants to slavers, burning down villages, using infants for blood magic… those are the stories about your fellow Dalish. I won’t repeat what they’re said about _you_.”

“Yikes,” I grumble. “Why not claim the Dalish can steal your breath or turn into dragons, while they’re at it?” I pause and run a hand over my face. “Now that I’ve said that, someone probably has.”

“Very likely. I will see what I can do to contain the slander. It may help if I know more about how you and your clan lived, if you’re willing to share.”

I cross my arms, considering this. “We were nomadic, of course, as all Dalish are. The best part of being nomadic is seeing many different places and people, interacting with different cultures and lifestyles. Truthfully, though, my favorite was when our aravel travelled to the woods.” My eyes grow distant. “I used to spend weeks exploring the forest.”

“You make it sound idyllic,” she says, smiling. “Haven is so far away from home. You must miss the people of your clan.”

“Yes, dearly. For so long, the clan was my whole world. Making new friends here has been… difficult.” I glance over my shoulder, at the Chantry doors. “Solas doesn’t like the Dalish much. Varric is good to me, but we relate on very little. And Cassandra… how is it that she’s so open about her past, yet it’s still like speaking to a brick wall?”

Josephine laughs. “Yes, I can’t imagine it’s been easy.”

“I’d like to see my family again after everything is done.”

“I hope you get the chance,” she says softly. “Whether you’re with them or not, being the clan of the Herald of Andraste will mark them in history.”

I shift awkwardly. “I worry about that. Elves and fame tend to go poorly together.”

“I’m certain that Leliana is keeping tabs on them. We can always send inquiries, and if something goes awry, perhaps the Inquisition could lend a hand.”

“Thank you.” I meet her eyes. “I appreciate it, Josephine.”

“Of course.” She gives a shallow curtsy. “I’m sure you have things to be doing. I’ll leave you be. Let me know if you need anything.”

She walks back towards her office, and I head out.

I wander through Haven and sit on the steps in front of my house, staring at the cold blue sky. For a time, nobody bothers me. Mother Giselle approaches me after about fifteen minutes.

“You haven’t moved for some time, Herald. Are you well?”

“Just lost in thought.”

“How fares your quest to seal the Breach?” she asks, sitting next to me.

I blink the dryness in my eyes away and shake my head. “Well, you know how these things go. At least, I hope someone does.”

She tips her head, watching me. “You laugh to bring a little light into the darkness, and I am glad to see it. Too many see laughter as antithetical to the Chant of Light. They imagine Andraste as a grim warrior, all her life, forgetting that she loved, and was loved in return.” She turns her gaze to the sky. “I hope she found time for laughter during her trials, as I hope you do.”

I squeeze the bridge of my nose. “I don’t… I’m not interested in being compared to Andraste. I tolerate the Herald thing because I have to, but I’m not the chosen of a god I don’t even believe in.”

“I understand. Whatever you believe, there remains a task to be done. If the faith of the people is nothing but a tool, then I beg you to use it well. We will all perish if you do not.” She tucks her hands in her lap, watching me. “In any case, I pray this Inquisition proves less brutal than its predecessor.”

“Actually,” I say, looking up at her, “could you tell me about the original Inquisition? I’ve been receiving bits and pieces of history, and I’m trying to fill in the holes. I’m desperate to understand what’s going on here and why.”

“Of course,” she says, smiling. “The original Inquisition was formed after the first Blight, well before the Chantry as we know it. The Inquisitors were hunters: zealots who tracked and killed cultists and dangerous mages. As Andraste rose to power, the Inquisition came into her service. Instead of hunting those who would do harm, the Inquisitors began to spread the Chant of Light by force.”

I make a face. “Ah, yes. I’m well aware of the ‘force’ used to spread the Chant.”

She waits.

I try to bite it back, but I can’t help myself. “How can you stand to follow the Chant of Light, knowing how it was spread? The brutality of it? And how can you revere Andraste when she was the one supposedly in charge of it?”

“It is difficult,” she says carefully. “I have always believed that the Maker wished us to spread the Chant by example, not violence. I take no pride in the manner that the Inquisition forced the Chant of Light upon the masses.” She hesitates, still eyeing me. “In any case, once the Chant had spread far and wide, there was less need for zealots. The Inquisitors became the Seekers of Truth, and eventually the Templars.”

“Right. Cassandra told me about the Seekers.” I bite the inside of my cheek. “This is a dark chapter of history for the Divine to revisit.”

“Hmm.” She looks out at the city before us. “Do you know what impresses me most about the original Inquisition?”

“What?”

“They fought horrific battles, killed and died for their cause… and when it was time, they put their swords away. Perhaps the name was Divine Justinia’s message: that when the Inquisition is needed, it will strike without mercy. But when its work is done, it will put its sword away.” With that, she stands up and walks away.

_Huh._

I sit on the steps for a moment more, digesting the history lesson. After a few minutes, exhausted of spinning it around in my mind, I stand up and wander out the gate of Haven. The training grounds are still busy this late in the afternoon, filled with new recruits. Cullen is standing among them, striking an impressive figure in black and red. Off to the left, by some otherwise unbothered practice dummies, is Cassandra, hacking away with a sword as though the dummies insulted her in a deeply personal manner.

Almost without thinking, I’m drawn towards her. Before I can come to my senses, she catches sight of me on approach. She narrows her eyes, then whips towards a dummy and slams her sword through its chest, burying it to the hilt.

I almost turn and run right then. Instead, the first thing out of my mouth is a flirt.

“You’re kind of a force of nature, aren’t you?”

“When I need to be,” she responds, yanking her blade free and nearly dismantling the dummy in the process.

“It’s impressive.”

She focuses on the next dummy, a little further away from me, and says, “You flatter me.”

I cough and mutter, “I’m trying.”

She side-eyes me. “What?”

“Nothing. Uh, it seems to me like you need practice dummies made of stronger stuff.”

“That would be nice,” she grumbles, and brings her sword down on the dummy, completely bisecting it.

“Like, uh, maybe iron.”

She shakes her head and takes a few steps away from me. “I can’t stop turning it over in my mind. Did I do the right thing?”

“Which thing?”

“All of it.” She faces the next dummy in line. “What I have set in motion here could destroy everything I have revered my whole life.” She feints at the dummy, hitting it a few times as she speaks. “One day, they may write about me as a traitor, a madwoman, a fool. And they may be right.”

I kick at a rock on the ground, unsure how to respond. “What does your faith tell you?”

She steps back from the dummy, staring at it. “I believe more is going on here than we can see, and I believe no one else cares to do anything about it. They will stand in the fire and complain that it is hot.” She rolls her shoulders and sighs, dropping back into an offensive stance. “But is this the Maker’s will? I can only guess.”

“You don’t think I was sent by the Maker? That I’m the Herald?”

“I think you were sent to help us,” she says, beginning her assault on the wooden and straw man again. “I hope you were. But the Maker’s help takes many forms. Sometimes it is difficult to discern who it truly benefits, or how.”

“You didn’t really have any choice to do what you did. To start the Inquisition.”

“Didn’t I?” she asks, effectively obliterating the dummy. As its pieces fall to the ground, she throws her sword down. “My trainers always said, ‘Cassandra, you are too brash. You must think before you act.’” She turns to me. “I see what must be done, and I do it. I see no point running around in circles like a dog chasing its tail.” She pauses for a moment, gazing at me. “But I misjudged you in the beginning, did I not? I thought the answer was before me, clear as day. I cannot afford to be so careless again.”

“Are you still agonizing over that? I don’t hold a grudge for that, Cassandra. It wasn’t like you had no reason to suspect me. Hell, I would have suspected me.”

Her eyes soften. “I was determined to have someone answer for what happened. Anyone.”

I can hear her grief in her voice, and remember that she lost the Divine in the explosion. It’s been weeks, but losing someone important to you isn’t something you get over easily. She turns and starts to head for the gates of Haven, but she slows and turns after a few paces.

“You truly don’t believe you’re chosen? You don’t believe in the Maker?”

“No, I don’t. I was raised with my people’s gods, Cassandra. I don’t have any reason to believe in the Maker.”

“There’s no room among your gods for one more?”

I tip my head. “I didn’t think that’s how the Maker works.”

She sighs. “I suppose it doesn’t matter now. I have to believe we were put on this path for a reason, even if you do not.”

I squint. _Just because my reason doesn’t come from the Maker doesn’t mean I don’t have one._

She turns and starts walking again. “Now it simply remains to see where it leads us.”

My eyes follow her as she walks away, back through the gates of Haven. _It’s unfair_ , I think. _I put in so much effort to learn about her religion and its history, but she brushes mine aside as though it doesn’t even exist._

Maybe there could be room in my pantheon for one more god. But not if that god doesn’t respect the space he’s entering.

I sigh and shake off this line of thought. I should say hi to Cullen. I haven’t spoken to him outside of the war room yet.

Following the sound of his voice, I duck and weave through the training ground until I come up beside him. He’s yelling at the recruits: “You there! There’s a shield in your hand. _Use_ it! If this man were your enemy, you’d be dead!”

The recruit flushes in humiliation and hefts his shield as Cullen turns to a man beside him.

“Don’t hold back, lieutenant. They won’t be fighting practice fights forever.”

The man salutes. “Yes, ser.”

Cullen notices me at his elbow suddenly. “Oh!”

I smile. “Thought I should say hello to you somewhere other than the war room.”

He chuckles. “I appreciate it.” He looks back out at the field. “We’ve received a number of recruits – locals from Haven and some pilgrims. More since your expedition in the Hinterlands.” He folds his arms and looks at me with a half-grin. “None have made quite the entrance you did.”

“I like to stand out,” I joke. “I may have been immediately taken prisoner and considered the Divine’s murderer for a short time, but at least I got everyone’s attention, right?”

“That you did,” he laughs. “I need to do some inspections. Walk with me?”

“Sure.”

I follow him across the field as he speaks, stopping every so often to correct a recruit’s posture or check a pallet of supplies.

“I was recruited to the Inquisition in Kirkwall, myself. I was there during the mage uprising – I saw firsthand the devastation it caused.”

_Kirkwall again. I have to ask someone about that._

“Cassandra sought a solution,” he continues, turning to a messenger as they approach. “When she offered me a position, I left the templars to join her cause.” He accepts a clipboard from the messenger and looks it over, then signs it and hands it back. The messenger runs off. “Now it seems we face something far worse. I never expected…” He trails off, and his eyes flicker up to the Breach.

“Yeah, things aren’t looking great.”

He looks back at me, resting both of his hands on the pommel of his sword. “Which is why we’re needed.” His voice is passionate. “The Chantry lost control of both templars and mages. Now they argue over a new Divine while the Breach remains. With the destruction and loss of life caused, it could take the Chantry years to select a new Divine. The Inquisition will be able to act when the Chantry cannot. Our followers would be part of that. There’s so much we can…” He stops himself, shaking his head. “Forgive me. I doubt you came here for a lecture.”

Holy shit. He’s adorable.

“No, but if you have one prepared, I’d love to hear it,” I reply, grinning.

He laughs. “Another time, perhaps.” He runs a hand through his ruffled hair, the lightest touch of pink coloring his cheeks as he avoids my eyes. “I, um. There’s still a lot of work ahead.”

Another messenger interrupts him. “Commander! Ser Rylan has a report on our supply lines.”

Cullen glances at me with a wry grin. “As I was saying. You’ll have to excuse me. But feel free to come chat any time.”

I watch him walk away with a small smile. Gods, his hair is perfectly ruffled, and the shadow of scruff on his jaw accentuates his cheekbones perfectly.

Mythal, why is everybody here so pretty?

I stuff my hands in my coat pockets and walk back into Haven. The sun is drawing ever closer to the horizon, but I don’t want to retire to bed just yet. Maybe Leliana is still in her tent? I haven’t gotten much chance to get acquainted with her, either.

I head up towards the Chantry. Beside the fire, Varric is sitting on a bench, writing furiously. A few Chantry sisters and brothers are grouped near the fire, as well, murmuring the Chant. Up another set of stairs, and there, across from the Chantry doors, is Leliana’s tent. Oftentimes there are agents and ravens coming and going from it, delivering reports and taking messages for her. But it’s quiet tonight. Beside her cot, Leliana is kneeling, whispering to herself.

With some hesitation, I approach. A few paces away, I can hear her words.

“Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow. In their blood the Maker’s will is written.” She takes a breath. “Is that what you want from us? Blood? To die so that Your will is done? Is death your only blessing?”

 _Oh, yikes._ Maybe I shouldn’t interrupt.

Before I can sneak off, she straightens up and notices me. She tips her head. “You speak for Andraste, no? What does the Maker’s prophet have to say about all of this? What’s his game?”

“Uh.”

“It’s been weeks, but I can’t wrap my mind around it. I don’t understand.”

“I thought I’ve made it clear that I don’t speak for Andraste,” I say, mildly frustrated, “and Leliana, how is this a game?”

“The conclave, the hole in the sky, the faithful murdered where the Holiest of Holies once stood. If the Maker willed this, what is it if not a game or a cruel joke?” She glares at the snow on the ground. “You don’t even worship the Maker. Lucky. He asks a _lot._ ” She stands up and paces in her tent. “The Chantry teaches that the Maker abandoned us. He demands repentance for our sins. He demands it all: our lives, our deaths. Justinia gave Him everything she had, and He let her die!”

I stare at her. She stops beside me, staring up at the Breach out of the open front of her tent.

“I mean. Um. Someone is at fault for killing her. You could be angry at them? Maybe?”

She turns her gaze to the Chantry building. “If the Maker doesn’t intervene to save the best of His servants, what good is he?” She folds her arms. “I used to believe I was chosen, just as some say you are. I thought I was fulfilling his purpose for me, working with the Divine, helping people. But now she’s dead.” Her voice hardens. “It was all for nothing. Serving the Maker meant _nothing_.”

“This some, uh, serious whiplash from talking to Cassandra. I really only came over to say hi.”

She puts a hand to her face. “I’m sorry. This is my burden. I regret that I even let you see me like this. I thought… with time…” She sighs. “But it hasn’t gotten any better. It doesn’t hurt any less now than it did two and a half weeks ago.”

“It’s okay to experience grief. It’s an important part of healing.”

“It was a moment of weakness.” She turns and walks to her desk. “It won’t happen again. We will speak later.”

I have enough sense to know when I’ve been dismissed. I skitter away, relieved that she’s not dumping her emotions on me anymore. It was unexpected and I was in no way ready to handle it properly.

Maybe that’s quite enough getting to know people for the day.

The sun hasn’t gone down yet, but I walk straight to my house and get in bed immediately.

Leliana needs to chill.

I’m woken the next morning by distant yelling. With a grumble of annoyance, I peel myself out of my sheets and get dressed, then walk in the direction of the commotion. I don’t really _want_ to know what’s going on, but I may as well give them a piece of my mind for disturbing my sleep.

In front of the Chantry is a gaggle of people. Mages and templars, by the looks of it. I pause a ways off and squint at them.

“Your kind killed the Most Holy!” screams a man.

“Lies!” yells another man right back. “Your kind let her die!”

I roll my eyes so hard it hurts. Gods, they really aren’t done arguing? It’s been weeks. It’s been fucking _weeks_. What are they even doing with their time? Don’t they see the hole in the sky?

The first man who yelled snarls and goes to draw his blade. “Shut your mouth, mage!” he snaps.

Before he can decapitate the other man, Cullen bursts in between them, shoving them away from each other.

“Enough!” he commands, furious.

“Knight-Captain…!”

Cullen wheels on the templar, eyes filled with rage. “That is _not_ my title. We are not templars any longer. We are _all_ part of the Inquisition.”

“And what does that mean, exactly?” sneers a familiar voice.

Cullen makes a face. “Back again, Chancellor? Haven’t you done enough?”

Chancellor Roderick turns in a circle, examining the mages and templars around them. “I’m curious, Commander, as to how your Inquisition and its ‘Herald’ will restore order as you’ve promised.” He gestures to the assembled mob as he speaks, driving his point home.

Cullen rolls his eyes. “Of course you are,” he mutters before looking past the Chantry brother and ordering everyone back to their duties.

The mob disperses with grumbles and mutters. I approach Cullen and the Chancellor.

Cullen glances at me as I walk up beside him.

“I can’t believe this is still such an issue,” I say, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. “How are they so short-sighted?”

“Mages and templars were already at war. Now, without someone to blame for the Divine’s death, they’ve turned to pointing fingers at each other. I’m afraid they may not stop until we have an actual suspect.”

Roderick side-eyes me, making it clear that he still thinks I’m responsible. Thankfully, he doesn’t vocalize this. Instead, he says, “That is why we require a proper authority to guide them back to order.”

Cullen raises an eyebrow. “Who, you? Random clerics who weren’t important enough to be at the Conclave?”

_Oh, damn._

“The rebel Inquisition and its so-called Herald of Andraste? I think not.”

“I’m not the _fucking_ Herald,” I snap.

He gives me a disgusted look. “That _laudable_ humility won’t stop the Inquisition from using the misconception when it suits them.”

“The Inquisition,” Cullen cuts in, “claims only that we must close the Breach or perish.”

“You say that now, Commander. We shall see if the sentiment remains true,” Roderick says, walking away.

I look up at Cullen. “Try not to let anyone riot while we’re in Val Royeaux.”

“We’ve managed for the last few weeks.” Cullen sighs. “The walls will be standing when you return. I hope.”

“Have you seen Cassandra?”

“I think she’s already by the stables with Varric and Solas. You overslept, Lyra.”

“Ugh. Can you blame me?”

“Not really,” he says, smiling. “But you should get going. The trip to Val Royeaux isn’t a short one.”


End file.
